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UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 

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CITY  COUSINS. 


A    STORY  FOR    CHILDREN. 


BY 


MRS.   W.   J.   HAYS, 

AUTHOB  OF  "PRINCE  LAZYBONES,"  "A  DOMESTIC  HEROINE," 
"A  LOVING   SISTER,"    "CASTLE   COMFORT,"  ETC. 


NEW   YORK: 
THOMAS     WHITTAKER, 

2  and  3  Bible  House. 


Copyright,  1885, 
By  THOMAS   WHITTAKER. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co  ,  Astor  Place,  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PAGE 

The  Cold  Shoulder 7 

CHAPTER   II. 
A  New  Friend 17 

CHAPTER   III. 
Amy's  Illness 24 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  Journey 33 

CHAPTER   V. 
A  New  Pet 41 

CHAPTER   VI. 
A  Ball 49 

CHAPTER   VII. 
A  Bright  Idea 58 

696740    8 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
An  Unwelcome  Visitor 65 

CHAPTER   IX. 
Belle's  Project 73 

CHAPTER    X. 
The  Lost  Lame 79 

CHAPTER   XL 
Gypsies 88 

CHAPTER   XII. 
Young  Adventurers 99 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
Blasted  Hopes 107 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  Gypsy  Girl 116 

CHAPTER   XV. 
Amy's  Interview 126 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
The  Missing  Child 136 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
The  Hunt 145 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
The  Secret  Told 157 


CONTENTS.  5 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
Found 167 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Amy's  Home 170 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
The  Gypsies  Again 185 

CHAPTER   XXII. 
Hagar's  Story 197 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 
Little  Parkot 206 


^m 


CITY    COUSINS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  COLD  SHOULDER. 


"  "1  TAS  she  come  yet?"  "  Have  you  seen 
-■ — *-  her  ?  "  "  Is  she  nice  ?  "  were  the 
hurried  questions  of  a  group  of  children  on 
the  hot  sands  of  Burton  Beach.  They  had 
but  recently  arrived  from  the  city,  and  their 
cheeks  had  not  yet  been  tanned  by  sea  and 
sun.  Isabella  and  Vincent  Travers  were  the 
tallest  of  the  four,  and  it  was  they  who  were 
speaking  to  the  matronly  woman  in  cap  and 
kerchief  who  had  just  joined  them. 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  her,  Miss  Belle ;  and 
why  shouldn't  she  be  nice,  Master  Vinnie, 
when  she's  your  own  cousin?"  responded  the 

7 


8  CITY   COUSINS. 

person  addressed,  evidently  thinking  this  an 
appeal  to  the  boy's  self-respect. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  "  said  Vincent,  kick- 
ing up  the  sand  and  pebbles;  "but  Belle  says 
she's  sure  to  be  gawky,  —  country  cousins 
always  are." 

"  I  don't  believe  she's  got  such  pretty 
dresses  as  we  have,"  said  Tillie. 

"Nor  half  such  nice  pails  and  shovels," 
said  wee,  toddling  Clara. 

At  this  they  all  laughed. 

"  If  she  were  only  a  boy  !  "  said  Vincent. 

"Or  knew  how  to  dance,  and  to  swim,  and 
play  tennis  !  "  said  Belle. 

Just  then  a  slim,  pretty  lady,  leading  a 
little  girl  by  the  hand,  came  towards  them. 

"  Here  Belle  and  Tillie  and  Vincent,  let 
me  introduce  you  to  Amy ;  and  Clara,  too, 
must  not  be  left  out.  Amy,  these  are  your 
cousins :  I  hope  3rou  will  all  have  pleasant 
times  together.  Good-by."  So  saying,  the 
lady,  a  young  aunt,  joined  a  gay  party  of 
pleasure-seekers,  and  went  off. 

The  girl  looked  about  her  wistfully.  She 
was   not   more    than    twelve  years  old,  and 


THE   COLD   SHOULDER.  9 

rather  small,  with  keen,  delicate  features, 
and  bright  dark  eyes.  She  was  dressed  very 
plainly  in  a  gingham  gown.  The  other  chil- 
dren returned  her  gaze  with  the  cool  inso- 
lence of  indifference,  and  want  of  courtesy. 
Belle  and  Vincent  could  have  charming 
manners  when  they  chose,  as  at  the  dance 
of  the  night  before  ;  but  now  they  simply 
stared,  and  made  no  movement  to  indicate  a 
welcome. 

"For  shame!"  muttered  the  nurse;  where- 
upon Vincent  turned  on  his  heel,  and  joined 
some  other  boys  and  girls,  while  Isabella 
took  up  a  book,  and  sat  down  to  read ;  little 
Clara  alone  putting  up  her  chubby  cheeks  to 
be  kissed.  In  vain  the  nurse  remonstrated. 
Tillie  followed  her  sister's  evil  example,  and 
went  unconcernedly  about  her  tunnel-boring. 
They  were  all  pretty  children,  and  no  one 
would  have  supposed  that  any  but  the 
gentlest  motives  controlled  them.  Isabella 
knew  that  Amy  had  not  received  so  many 
advantages  as  herself,  and  was  weakly  afraid 
that  she  might  commit  some  breach  of  deco- 
rum   before    her    fashionable    watering-place 


10  CITY   COUSINS. 

acquaintances;  so,  without  any  considera- 
tion of  her  unkindness,  she  was  silly  enough 
to  ignore  her. 

Amy  looked  with  surprise  from  one  cousin 
to  the  other,  and  then,  as  if  arranging  the 
matter  in  her  mind,  drew  near  to  Clara  and 
nurse,  who  gladly  spoke  to  her  of  her  jour- 
ney, her  home,  and  her  amusements.  As  her 
low,  clear  voice  reached  Belle,  it  struck  her 
as  a  very  sweet  one ;  but  she  went  on  reading 
in  sullen  silence,  feeling  sure  that  "  the  little 
rustic,"  as  she  called  her,  would  surely  dis- 
grace her  in  their  evening  games. 

Tillie,  too,  made  no  effort  of  friendliness, 
but,  tired  of  her  play  in  the  sand,  persuaded 
Clara  to  follow  her  to  some  distant  rocks. 

A  boat  was  tossing  idly  near,  and  into  this 
the  two  children  climbed. 

"Let's  play  we  are  out  in  a  storm,  and  in 
great  danger,"  cried  Tillie,  rocking  the  boat 
violently. 

Nurse  was  not  looking,  but  Amy  was,  and 
saw  tiny  Clara  reach  far  over  the  boat's 
side,  lose  her  balance,  and  fall  in.  Quickly 
a  great  wave  bore  her  from  the  shore.     Be- 


THE    COLD    SHOULDER.  11 

fore  frightened  Tillie  could  shriek  for  help, 
Amy  had  run  with  the  fleetness  of  a  fawn, 
and,  wading  out,  had  caught  Clara  in  her 
arms.  There  really  had  been  no  great  dan- 
ger, for  there  were  plenty  of  people  about, 
as  well  as  boats  and  ropes ;  but  Amy's  pres- 
ence of  mind  filled  the  by-standers  with 
admiration. 

"  Whose  child  is  that  ?  What  a  brave  and 
quick  action !  "  were  the  expressions  Belle 
heard  as  the  two  wet  children  were  led  away 
by  the  terrified  and  reproving  nurse. 

Perhaps  she  and  Vincent  were  both  sorry 
that  they  had  not  met  Amy  in  a  more  friendly 
fashion  :  but  as  yet,  neither  of  them  was  pre- 
pared to  acknowledge  it ;  for  when  evening 
came,  and  all  the  gay  butterflies  were  swarm- 
ing in  the  hotel  parlors,  they  made  no  ad- 
vance towards  the  little  white-robed  Amy, 
whose  simplicity  they  did  not  admire.  Set 
after  set  of  quadrilles  were  danced,  Belle 
and  Vincent  leading,  —  Belle  in  satin  and 
lace,  quite  like  a  queen,  anl  Vincent  at- 
tired in  the  velvet  of  a  young  courtier;  but 
Amy  remained  in  her  corner  with  Tillie,  who 


12  CITY   COUSINS. 

alone  tried  to  make  some  reparation  for  the 
rudeness  of  the  morning.  The  young  aunt 
—  Miss  Gaylord,  in  whose  care  the  children 
had  been  left  while  their  mother  was  visiting, 
thought  that,  so  long  as  her  little  charges 
were  well  dressed  and  well  fed,  they  needed 
nothing  more  —  danced  away  to  her  heart's 
content  with  the  rest  of  the  butterflies. 
"Nurse  is  so  capable,"  she  said,  "that  she 
really  leaves  me  nothing  to  do." 

There  was  one  person  impressed  differ- 
ently,—  one  who  had  seen  the  morning's  per- 
formance, had  witnessed  the  brave  act  of 
Amy,  and  was  watching  the  child  in  the 
evening.  Something  very  winning  this  per- 
son found  in  the  keen,  delicate  features  and 
bright  dark  eyes  of  little  Amy,  —  something 
that  touched  her  heart,  and  made  her  own 
childhood  come  back  again.  This  person 
was  on  the  lookout  for  some  actors  for  ta- 
bleaux which  were  to  be  given  for  the  benefit 
of  a  hospital;  and,  making  this  the  excuse  for 
an  introduction,  she  sought  Miss  Gaylord. 

"Surely,  you  don't  want  that  little  mouse 
of  an  Amy ! "  was  Miss  Gaylord's  exclama- 


THE  COLD   SHOULDER.  13 

tion  as  she  bowed  with  graceful  surprise  to 
Mrs.  Emmet,  the  dignified  and  accomplished 
lady  whose  wealth  and  refinement  made  her 
conspicuous  at  Burton  Beach.  "  I  think  you 
must  mean  Belle,  my  niece :  she  is  a  much 
prettier  child." 

"No,  Miss  Gaylord,"  responded  Mrs.  Em- 
met, "  the  child  for  my  purpose  is  just  that 
'  little  mouse,  Amy  ' :  she  has  qualities  both 
of  mind  and  person,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
which  suit  the  character  of  my  tableau/' 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  you  must  know !  " 
said  Miss  Gaylord,  with  a  little  shrug  of  her 
pretty  shoulders ;  "  but  I  really  don't  see  any 
thing  picturesque  about  Amy.  However, 
though  she's  a  cousin  to  the  children,  being 
a  Travers,  she's  no  relation  of  mine  ;  and  I 
suppose  that  may  be  the  reason  why  I  admire 
Belle  more:  every  one  thinks  their  own  crow 
the  blackest ; "  and  Miss  Gaylord  gave  Mrs. 
Emmet  a  smile  and  a  courtesy,  and  glided 
off  for  another  waltz  as  soon  as  she  had  led 
Amy  up  to  her  new  acquaintance.  A  pleas- 
ant chat  followed,  and  Mrs.  Emmet  was 
quite  satisfied  with  her  choice;  for  she  found 


14  CITY   COUSINS. 

Amy,  though  modest,  by  no  means  timid,  and 
there  was  soon  a  frank  friendship  started  be- 
tween them.  A  little  while  after,  there  was 
a  general  retirement  of  children  from  the 
parlors ;  and  Amy  bade  Mrs.  Emmet  good- 
night, with  the  assurance  of  meeting  her 
again  in  the  morning. 

"  Did  she  really  ask  you  to  act  in  ta- 
bleaux ? "  said  Tillie,  who,  with  nurse  and 
Belle,  was  mounting  the  broad  staircase 
which  led  to  their  rooms. 

"  Yes,  she  really  did,"  answered  Amy. 
"Was  it  very  strange?'' 

"  No,  but  it's  very  nice.  Belle  never  has 
been  asked,  neither  has  Vincent." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry  !  "  said  Amy  :  "  do  you 
think  they'll  care  ?  for,  if  they  do,  I'd  much 
rather  either  of  them  would  take  my  place." 

"Thank  you!"  said  Belle  very  stiffly.  "I 
don't  put  myself  forward  that  way." 

"  What  way  ?  "  asked  Amy. 

Belle  made  no  reply,  more  for  want  of  a 
good  reason  than  from  bad  manners  ;  as,  in 
spite  of  her  envy  and  general  dissatisfaction, 
she   was   not   wholly   displeased ;    at    least, 


THE   COLD    SHOULDER.  15 

Amy  had  not  disgraced  her.  Amy,  however, 
could  not  fathom  Belle's  mind.  She  felt 
that  she  caused  her  displeasure  ;  but  why, 
she  could  not  understand.  She  had  not  the 
least  idea  of  her  cousin's  evil  pride ;  and, 
when  they  parted  for  the  night,  she  offered 
to  kiss  her  as  kindly  as  she  did  Tillie  and 
little  Clara. 

All  that  nurse  said  on  the  subject  was, 
"It's  a  great  shame  for  you  to  act  so  ugly, 
Miss  Belle ;  and,  when  your  ma  comes  home, 
I  guess  there'll  be  a  change.  You  might 
have  kissed  the  little  thing,  whether  you 
wanted  to  or  not." 

"  I  am  not  a  hypocrite,"  answered  Belle, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head ;  "  and  I'm  not  going 
to  make  believe  I  like  Amy.  I  did  not  want 
her  to  be  with  us  this  summer,  and  I  don't 
know  why  papa  should  have  forced  us  to 
have  her.  Her  father  isn't  a  bit  like  papa : 
he  is  just  a  stupid  old  country  farmer." 

Nurse  said,  "  Hush !  she'll  hear  you," 
shaking  her  forefinger  at  Belle  as  she  un- 
buttoned Tillie's  waist;  but  she  was  not  a 
wise  woman,  and  her  advice  seldom  had  any 


16  CITY  COUSINS. 

effect.  If  she  had  told  Belle  that  she  ought 
to  go  on  her  knees,  and  pray  that  the  pride 
and  vanity  of  her  heart  might  be  rooted  out, 
it  would  have  been  what  the  child  really 
needed  ;  but  she  was  not  equal  to  the  oppor- 
tunity, and  there  was  no  one  else  to  do  so 
good  and  timely  a  service. 

The  thin  partition  between  the  rooms  did 
not  prevent  Amy's  quick  ear  from  hearing 
much  that  was  said ;  and  this,  added  to  the 
refused  kiss,  became  more  than  she  could 
bear.  The  excitement  of  the  day  had 
brought  on  headache ;  and,  long  after  every 
one  was  asleep,  the  child  lay  sobbing,  with 
only  her  misery  for  company. 


CHAPTER   II. 


A   NEW   FRIEND. 


npHE  night  was  a  very  warm  one  ;  and 
-*-  -  Mrs.  Emmet  was  so  restless  that  at  last 
she  arose  from  her  bed,  put  on  a  light  wrapper 
and  shawl,  and  went  out  on  the  upper  piazza. 
All  the  bedrooms  of  this  story  opened  upon 
the  same  corridor ;  and  as  she  paced  softly 
up  and  down,  watching  the  heaving  billows 
in  the  moonlight,  she  thought  she  heard  a 
sound  which  did  not  come  from  the  sea. 
Pausing  a  moment  before  the  latticed  door 
which  led  to  the  rooms  occupied  by  the 
Travers  part}',  she  now  was  able  to  distin- 
guish the  sobbing  of  a  child.  Knowing  that 
Miss  Gaylord's  apartment  was  farther  off, 
and  knowing  also,  by  experience,  that  nurses 
are  apt  to  sleep  heavily,  and  her  heart  being 

17 


18  CITY   COUSINS. 

moved  with  compassion,  she  pushed  gently 
against  the  door,  and  found  it  yielded  to  her 
touch.  The  moonlight  made  her  able  to  see 
two  small  beds,  in  one  of  which  lay  chubby 
little  Clara  Travers,  soundly  sleeping,  and  in 
the  other  Amy,  with  dishevelled  hair  and 
rumpled  pillows,  moaning  and  crying  as  if 
her  little  heart  would  break. 

"My  dear,  what  is  the  matter?"  asked 
Mrs.  Emmet,  putting  her  hand  gently  on  the 
crying  child. 

Amy's  sobs  ceased  suddenly,  and  looking 
up  with  alarm,  she  said,  "Oh!  I  didn't  know 
any  one  heard  me.  Oh!  oh!  oh!  —  I  am  so 
sorry ! " 

"  Hush,  dearie,  and  tell  me  what  ails  you. 
Are  you  in  pain  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Emmet. 

"  Yes,  —  a  little  ;  my  head  aches,"  an- 
swered Amy. 

"  I  should  think  it  might,  it  is  so  warm. 
Try  now  to  stop  crying,  while  I  go  and  get 
some  cologne  to  bathe  your  head.  I  will  be 
back  in  a  moment." 

The  few  words  of  sympathy  had  already 
calmed  the  child  ;  and  she  was  lying  quite 


A   NEW   FEIEND.  19 

still  when  Mrs.  Emmet  returned,  and  sat 
down  beside  her,  drawing  the  hair  gently 
away  from  her  brow,  and  with  deft  touch 
applying  the  cooling  lotion. 

"  Mrs.  Emmet,"  said  Amy,  after  a  while, 
"won't  you  please  not  have  me  in  your 
tableau  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask,  dear  ?  I  thought  you 
were  quite  pleased." 

"  Yes,  —  I  was,"  faltered  Amy  ;  "  but  I 
think  now  that  perhaps  Belle  would  like  me 
better  for  not  doing  it." 

"  And  what  difference  does  it  make  to 
Belle  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know :  but  she  doesn't  like  me, 
and  wishes  I  was  not  here,  and  says  my 
father  is  —  is  "  —  but  here  the  sobs  swelled 
up  again  in  her  throat,  and  she  could  say  no 
more. 

"Ah!  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet.  "Belle 
is  jealous.  But  how  do  }rou  know  she 
doesn't  like  you  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  can  tell  very  easily  :  she  wouldn't 
kiss  me  for  good-night,  and  she  said  such 
unkind  things ! " 


20  CITY   COUSINS. 

"To  you?" 

"  No,  not  to  me ;  but  I  could  not  help 
hearing  what  she  said." 

"You  should  not  have  listened,  dear." 

"But  I  could  not  help  it,  Mrs.  Emmet. 
And  oh !  I  would  not  have  minded  half  so 
much  if  she  had  not  spoken  so  scornfully  of 
my  dear  father." 

"  That  was,  indeed,  very  wrong ;  but  little 
girls  sometimes  say  foolish  things  which  they 
are  sorry  for.  If  I  were  you,  I  would  not  let 
Belle's  behavior  affect  me." 

"  I  tried  not  to,  Mrs.  Emmet.  I  thought 
it  might  be  only  her  way,  and  that  it  was 
because  I  did  not  know  her  very  well ;  but 
now  I  do  want  to  go  home :  I  don't  want  to 
stay  here  at  all,"  and  again  the  sobs  broke 
out. 

"Are  you  obliged  to  stay?  can  you  tell 
me  the  cause  of  your  coming?"  asked  Mrs. 
Emmet. 

"Uncle  Vincent,  Belle's  father,  wrote  to 
my  father  for  me  to  join  his  children  at  the 
seashore ;  that  is  all  I  know  about  it,  except 
that  father  had  to  come  to  the  city  just  the 


A   NEW   FKIEND.  21 

day  after  Miss  Gaylord  left  it,  and  so  he  did 
not  see  her  till  he  got  to  the  station  here, 
and  had  no  time  to  buy  me  any  new  things 
as  mother  wished,  and  he  went  back  by  the 
next  train ;  but  I  do  so  wish  he  had  waited, 
for  I  don't  want  to  stay." 

Mrs.  Emmet  listened  patiently  to  the 
broken  words  and  sobs ;  then,  taking  Amy's 
hands  in  her  own,  she  said,  "  I  am  too  much 
of  a  stranger,  dear  child,  to  have  any  right 
to  advise  you,  but  I  also  have  no  right  to 
deny  my  sympathy.  Try  to  be  patient  and 
brave,  and  I  am  certain  you  will  be  re- 
warded. By  to-morrow's  light,  every  thing 
will  look  differently :  Belle  may  have  gotten 
over  her  ill-humor;  and  you  may  be  sure, 
that,  if  you  show  no  resentment,  she  will 
soon  be  ashamed  of.  herself.  Little  people,  I 
find,  have  their  trials  as  well  as  big  people ; 
and  we  are  all  told  to  follow  the  example  of 
One  who  returned  good  for  evil.  Let  me 
smooth  your  pillows  now,  and  try  to  make 
you  more  comfortable  :  there,  isn't  that  much 
nicer?  Now  listen  to  the  waves,  —  they 
always  have  a  story  to  tell ;  and,  while  you 


22  CITY  COUSINS. 

listen,  I  will  stroke  your  hair  till  you  fall 
asleep." 

And  so  little  Amy  was  comforted. 

It  was  long  that  night  before  Mrs.  Emmet 
herself  slept.  She  paced  the  moon-lighted 
corridor  again,  pausing  every  little  while  to 
make  sure  that  her  young  friend  was  silent, 
and  then  resuming  her  own  deeper  and 
graver  reflections. 

At  the  breakfast-table  the  following  morn- 
ing, she  bowed  in  her  graceful  way  to  Miss 
Gaylord,  and  said,  — 

"  I  have  postponed  my  tableaux,  Miss 
Gaylord,  having  come  to  the  conclusion,  that, 
in  so  public  a  place,  it  is  not  well  to  bring 
children  so  prominently  forward.  I  have 
alwa}Ts  had  some  doubts  as  to  its  expediency, 
and  I  have  now  become  convinced  of  its 
impropriety." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Emmet,  that  is  not 
the  way  to  make  money,"  answered  Miss 
Gaylord,  with  a  little  shrug  of  her  shoulders. 
"  I  thought  you  were  so  interested  in  St. 
Mary's  Hospital." 

"  So  I  am,  and  in  young  children  as  well : 


A   NEW    FRIEND.  23 

that  which  excites  envy  and  jealousy  among 
them  should  not  be  encouraged,  even  for  so 
good  a  cause  as  St.  Mary's  Hospital ;  but  I 
intend  only  postponing  our  festivity.  I  shall 
have  something  of  the  sort  next  winter  at 
my  own  house,  where  there  will  be  less  pub- 
licity :  and  then  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  all  your  little  people." 

"  Perhaps  that  will  be  better,"  responded 
Miss  Gaylord,  not  unmindful  of  Mrs.  Em- 
met's beautiful  house,  which  she  had  often 
wished  to  see,  and  really  quite  ignorant  of 
all  that  had  transpired.  "  Besides,"  she 
added,  "  our  little"  mouse,  Amy,  to  whom 
you  took  a  fancy,  is  not  at  all  well,  nurse 
tells  me.  I  have  not  seen  the  child,  but 
nurse  says  she  is  feverish  and  dull :  children 
are  such  a  responsibility.  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  send  for  a  doctor.  But  there  goes 
my  tennis  party,  so  I  cannot  talk  any  more. 
Good-morning  ;  "  and,  with  one  of  her  little 
courtesies,  Miss  Gaylord  glided  off. 


CHAPTER   III. 


AMY'S   ILLNESS. 


DOES  any  child  know  what  it  is  to  be 
ill  in  a  great  caravansary  of  a  seaside 
hotel,  where  every  one  is  gathered  for 
amusement,  and  no  one  wants  to  even  know 
that  there  is  snch  a  thing  as  illness?  Where 
doors  are  opening  and  shutting,  hanging  to 
and  fro,  and  footsteps  are  falling,  and  people 
are  shouting  to  one  another,  and  porters  are 
trundling  their  barrows,  and  tumbling  off 
trunks  ?  Where  quiet  hardly  reigns  at  mid- 
night, and  all  the  little  home  comforts  are 
difficult  to  obtain? 

It  seemed  to  Amy  very  hard  to  be  ill 
under  such  circumstances :  but  when  nurse 
felt  her  hot  head  and  hands,  she  forbade  her 
rising ;  and  by  and  by  Amy  had  no  wish  to 

24 


amy's  illness.  25 

rise ;  but  oh,  how  she  did  wish  she  could  be 
still ! 

And  then  came  a  stranger  to  look  at  her, 
and  feel  her  pulse,  and  make  her  put  out  her 
tongue.  He  may  have  been  very  kind,  and 
very  wise  ;  but  he  wasn't  the  least  like  dear 
old  Dr.  Bolus,  in  whose  gig  behind  "  old 
Whitey  "  she  had  had  many  a  pleasant  ride, 
stopping  at  farmhouses,  and  getting  posies 
from  the  gardens,  and  buttermilk  from  the 
churns. 

To  add  to  her  wretchedness,  she  heard 
some  flibbertigibbet  say,  "  I  hope  that  child 
hasn't  any  thing  contagious." 

Suppose  she  had,  and  suppose  all  her 
cousins  should  take  the  disease.  Dreadful 
thought !  Isabella  and  Vincent  would  then 
have  good  cause  indeed  to  regret  her  coming 
among  them. 

But  Isabella  and  Vincent  were  not  trou- 
bling themselves  about  her.  They  were  off 
in  a  yacht  with  a  merry  party,  and  Miss 
Gaylord  had  taken  Tillie  and  Clara  to  drive, 
and  nurse  had  darkened  the  room,  and  told 
Amy  to  go  to  sleep,  and  she  had  tried  to  do 


ZO  CITY   COUSINS. 

so ;  but  the  long  weary  hours  seemed  inter- 
minable. Mrs.  Emmet  had  inquired  after 
her,  and  sent  her  a  lovely  little  bunch  of 
grasses;  but  she  had  heard  nurse  tell  her 
that  the  doctor  said  she  must  have  no  vis- 
itors, and  must  be  kept  very  quiet.  And 
then  there  had  been  a  prolonged  whispering 
which  she  could  not  understand  ;  and  nurse 
would  not  give  her  any  explanation  of  it, 
only  re-iterating  the  doctor's  commands,  and 
bidding  her  "be  a  good  girl." 

Nurse  was  not  unkind;  but  oh!  how  dif- 
ferent it  all  was  from  home,  where  mother 
and  aunt  Kitty  would  have  taken  care  of 
her,  and  Pedro  would  have  come  to  her  bed- 
side to  be  patted,  and  wag  his  sympathetic 
tail,  and  look  with  loving  eyes  as  if  he  would 
give  worlds  to  make  her  well. 

And  then  when  sleep  came,  it  brought  a 
repetition  of  all  these  thoughts  and  recol- 
lections, and  jumbled  them  up  with  an  effort 
to  get  home  from  some  very  confused  and 
distressing  place.  The  hours  and  days  be- 
came so  mixed  that  Amy  did  not  know  one 
from  the  other,  and  then  there  came  a 
change. 


amy's  illness.  27 

It  was  morning,  and  Amy  had  been  taken 
from  bed,  and  put  in  a  large  chair  by  the 
window,  where  she  could  see  people  walking 
on  the  beach,  and  watch  the  waves  come 
rolling  in.  Nurse  and  the  children  were  on 
the  sands,  and  Miss  Gaylord  was  with  Amy. 
Miss  Gaylord  was  very  pretty  to  look  at, 
Amy  thought :  she  had  such  a  sheer,  white 
muslin  dress  with  innumerable  ruffles,  and 
on  her  fingers  were  sparkling  rings,  and  her 
soft,  wavy  hair  was  arranged  so  gracefully. 
But  Amy  was  just  a  little  afraid  to  talk  to 
her :  she  had  a  sort  of  far-away  look,  as  if 
her  thoughts  were  not  on  the  present  mo- 
ment ;  and  she  was  working  diligently  at  her 
embroidery,  as  if  it  were  very  important,  and 
she  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed.  Nurse 
had  arranged  every  thing  for  Amy  —  all  the 
glasses  and  spoons,  and  a  plate  of  toast  —  be- 
fore going  out.  But  Amy  wanted  to  know 
if  a  letter  had  come  for  her,  —  she  thought 
she  had  heard  one  spoken  of,  —  and  yet  she 
did  not  like  to  bother  Miss  Gaylord ;  when 
suddenly  Mrs.  Emmet's  face  appeared,  and, 
with   a   pleasant    "  May    I    come   in  ? "    she 


28  CITY   COUSINS. 

entered.  Miss  Gaylord  was  delighted  to  see 
her,  and  put  down  her  work  at  once,  say- 
ing, — 

"This  is  a  new  role  for  me,  I  assure  you, — 
staj'ing  in-doors  such  a  fine  morning ;  but 
nurse  said  she  must  go  out,  so  here  I  am : 
and  this  little  mouse  hasn't  spoken  a  word 
since  I  sat  down.  Do  you  think  she  ever 
speaks,  Mrs.  Emmet?  I  never  saw  so  silent 
a  child." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Emmet.  "  I  am  sure 
she  will  speak  to  me,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
want  to  borrow  her,  —  won't  you,  Amy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Amy,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  you  little  mute ! "  cried  Miss  Ga}r- 
lord,  shaking  her  finger  at  her:  "you  have 
found  your  tongue  at  last.  But  what  do  }tou 
suppose  Mrs.  Emmet  means  by  borrowing 
you?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  again  said  Amy. 

"Nor  I,"  said  Miss  Gaylord. 

"  Well,  I  must  explain,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet. 
"  I  am  going  in  a  few  days  to  the  Dela- 
ware Water-Gap,  and  I  want  a  pleasant 
little  companion.     Will  you  lend  me   Amy, 


amy's  illness.  29 

Miss  Gaylord  ?  and  will  you  go  with  me, 
Amy  ?  " 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  about  it,"  said 
Miss  Gaylord  :  "I  am  only  an  aide  de  camp. 
You  will  have  to  appeal  to  headquarters, 
Mrs.  Emmet.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  should  be 
glad  to  have  less  responsibility,  and  would 
have  sent  this  little  mouse  home  when  she 
was  first  taken  sick,  but  that  nurse  begged 
me  not  to,  and  the  doctor  said  she  would  be 
all  right  in  a  few  days ;  and  they  wouldn't 
even  let  me  send  word  to  her  parents.  Oh  ! 
I  assure  you,  I  have  had  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  on  Amy's  account." 

Mrs.  Emmet  could  not  recall  a  single 
evening  in  which  Miss  Gaylord  had  been 
absent  from  the  dances  and  games ;  but  she 
said  nothing  about  that,  and,  turning  to 
Amy,  repeated  her  request,  adding, — 

"  I  have  an  excellent  maid,  —  a  colored 
woman,  who  has  so  little  to  do  that  she  will 
be  glad  to  have  some  one  to  wait  upon ;  and 
we  will  go  part  of  the  way  in  my  carriage : 
for  I  like  driving  better  than  railway  travel- 
ling: in  warm  weather." 


80  CITY   COUSINS. 

"But,  Mrs.  Emmet,"  said  Miss  Gaylord, 
"wouldn't  a  well  child  be  a  livelier  compan- 
ion? Now,  there's  Belle:  to  be  sure,  she's 
torn  all  her  frocks,  and  danced  her  silk  stock- 
ings to  shreds ;  but  she'd  be  less  trouble 
than  Amy." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet  suavely. 
"I  could  find  plenty  of  substitutes,  doubt- 
less; but  Amy  is  my  choice,  and  will  be  no 
trouble." 

"  Oh !  chacun  a  son  gout"  responded  Miss 
Gaylord.     "  What  do  you  say,  Amy  ?  " 

Now,  the  one  wish  of  Amy's  homesick 
little  heart  was  to  go  home;  but  when  she 
saw  Mrs.  Emmet's  kind  e}res  bent  upon  her, 
and  felt  the  warm  pressure  of  her  caressing 
hand,  and  thought  how  differently  she  was 
regarded  by  Miss  Gaylord  as  well  as  her 
cousins,  she  said,  — 

"If  Airs.  Emmet  is  so  kind  as  to  really 
want  me,  I  will  go  with  pleasure,  if  my  fa- 
ther and  mother  consent." 

"Oh,  there's  little  doubt  of  that!"  said 
Miss  Gaylord  lightly,  taking  a  letter  from 
her  pocket.     "  There,  read  that,  while   I  ar- 


amy's  illness.  81 

range  details  with  Mrs.  Emmet;  for  of  course 
you  will  have  to  be  made  presentable.  Some 
of  Belle's  frocks  may  fit  you :  she  has  lots  of 
old  ones  she  has  outgrown,  I  believe."  But 
Amy  waited  to  hear  no  more,  having  seized 
her  father's  letter,  and  kissed  it  rapturously. 

"  Little  actress !  "  said  Miss  Gaylord,  with 
a  shrug  of  her  shoulders  and  a  scornful  little 
smile.  But  these  words  were  lost  on  Amy, 
though  not  on  Mrs.  Emmet,  who  gravely 
replied, . — 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you  :  art  but  imi- 
tates Nature  ;  and  as  for  the  dress  question, 
Miss  Gaylord,  pray  give  it  no  thought. 
Amy's  simple  little  gowns  suit  me  better 
than  the  most  elegant  costumes.  I  like  chil- 
dren to  be  children,  —  neat,  clean,  and 
wholesome  ;  not  fantastic  little  fashion-plates, 
ruffled  and  puffed,  and  beaded  and  braided, 
until  they  think  of  nothing  but  their  clothes. 
Look  at  Amy,  now,  in  her  little  plain  flannel 
gown,  and  see  how  sweet  she  looks ;  but  I 
want  her  to  look  strong  and  healthy,  and 
I  do  not  believe  Burton  Beach  agrees  with 
her:   so,  if  you   please,  have   her   ready  by 


32 


CITY   COUSINS. 


Saturday,  and  we  will  remove  all  responsi- 
bility from  your  shoulders.  I  have  taken  a 
wonderful  fancy  to  that  child." 

"So  it  seems,  and  an  inexplicable  one  to 
me,"  answered  Miss  Gaylord,  bowing  out  her 
visitor. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


A  JOURNEY. 


BELLE  received  the  news  of  Amy's  going 
as  she  had  done  her  coming,  —  with  cool 
indifference,  and  made  no  effort  in  the  few  in- 
tervening days  to  show  any  cousinly  regard. 
But  Clara  and  Tillie,  who  were  now  allowed 
to  be  in  her  room,  were  very  friendly  and 
pleasant.  Amy  was  always  read}-  to  dress 
their  dolls,  or  write  their  funny  little  letters. 
It  pleased  her  to  hear  them  prattle,  and  she 
had  a  stock  of  fairy  tales  which  they  de- 
lighted to  have  her  repeat;  and  fur  a  while  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  might  have  remained 
with  them,  and  been  very  happy,  notwith- 
standing Vincent  and  Belle. 

But  the  day  came  for  her  departure;  and 
when  she  heard  Miss  Gaylord  say;  "What  a 

33 


34  CITY   COUSINS. 

relief  it  is  not  to  have  the  care  of  that  delU 
cate  child"  she  could  not  be  too  thankful  for 
Mrs.  Emmet's  kindness.  She  had  yet  a  little 
cough,  and  a  pain  in  her  chest;  but  she  could 
walk  without  feeling  so  very  tired :  and  she 
laughed  at  the  many  pillows  which  Di,  Mrs. 
Emmet's  maid,  insisted  upon  tucking  behind 
her  in  the  stage  which  carried  them  to  the 
train.  Miss  Gaylord  kissed  her  "  good-by," 
and  Tillie  and  Clara  waved  their  handker- 
chiefs ;  but  Belle  and  Vincent  were  nowhere 
to  be  seen :  they  had  gone  to  the  beach  early 
on  purpose  to  be  away  when  she  left.  Amy 
could  not  help  being  pained  at  this :  she 
could  not  understand  it,  as  no  one  can,  who 
lives  in  an  atmosphere  of  love ;  but  every 
unpleasantness  was  forgotten  in  the  novelty 
and  variety  of  the  journey.  They  were  riding 
on  the  Delaware  and  Lackawanna  Railway, 
and  found  the  scenery  very  picturesque :  but, 
after  two  hours  had  gone,  they  stopped  at 
one  of  the  "junctions,"  and  exchanged  their 
seats  in  a  parlor  car  for  a  delightful,  wide, 
old-fashioned  carriage  which  was  waiting  at 
the  station,  and  the  driver  of  which  was  Di's 


A   JOUIlNKiT.  35 

husband.  Here,  too,  was  Mrs.  Emmet,  who 
had  preceded  them.  Her  somewhat  grave 
face  lighted  up  as  Jack  lifted  Amy  to  the 
seat  beside  her ;  and  she  took  Amy's  face  in 
both  hands,  and  kissed  her.  Mrs.  Emmet 
had  no  children,  but  she  told  Amy  about 
ever  so  many  nephews  and  nieces.  It 
seemed  to  Amy  as  if  she  must  be  in  a  dream, 
and  a  very  pleasant  one  ;  for  here  she  was 
with  a  comparative  stranger,  miles  and  miles 
away  from  home ;  and  yet  every  thing  was  so 
arranged  for  her  comfort,  and  done  for  her 
particular  benefit,  that  not  even  her  mother 
or  aunt  Kitty  could  have  been  more  con- 
siderate. 

Mrs.  Emmet  wore  a  soft,  gray  Indian  silk, 
with  a  bonnet  of  the  same,  on  which  were 
scarlet  poppies,  and  a  travelling-cloak  of 
some  kind  of  light  cloth,  which  was  fastened 
with  silver  clasps.  All  her  things  were  rich 
and  elegant,  from  the  beautiful  Russia- 
leather  dressing-case  to  the  dainty  lunch- 
basket  with  its  choice  contents ;  but  Amy 
did  not  feel  oppressed  by  the  elegance,  even 
when  she  compared  it  with  the  simplicity  of 


36  CITY    COUSINS. 

her  own  home ;  for  Mrs.  Emmet's  manner 
was  just  as  simple  and  natural  as  her  aunt 
Kitty's  or  her  mother's. 

If  she  had  been  a  little  older,  she  might 
have  remembered  that  truth  and  purity  and 
simplicity  are  the  same  everywhere,  and  that 
only  the  vulgar  make  their  riches  a  cause  for 
ostentation  and  pride. 

Beside  the  lunch-basket,  which  was  opened 
soon,  stood  a  cage,  in  which  was  a  }'ellow, 
long-necked  canary,  looking  as  much  at 
home  as  if  he  travelled  every  day,  and  every 
once  in  a  while  giving  a  little  twitter  as  his 
share  of  the  conversation  ;  for,  as  Di  was  on 
the  front  seat  with  Jack,  Mrs.  Emmet  and 
Amy  talked  unrestrainedly.  Miss  Gay  lord 
would  have  had  no  ground  for  calling  Amy 
mute  could  she  have  heard  her  now,  at  her 
ease,  and  with  an  interested  listener,  chat- 
ting about  her  father  and  mother,  her  dear 
old  home  that  had  been  her  mother's  and 
grandmother's  birthplace  ;  her  garden  full  of 
roses  and  pinks  and  lilies ;  the  cow,  the 
horse,  the  chickens,  and  the  barn :  the  vil- 
lage church,  and  the  beautiful  lake,  on  the 


A   JOURNEY.  37 

clear  waters  of  which  she  could  row  her 
own  little  boat,  and  which  in  winter  was 
frozen  so  solid  that  she  skated  on  it.  No, 
there  was  danger  of  her  talking  too  much ; 
and  Mrs.  Emmet  coaxed  her  to  put  her 
head  on  her  shoulder,  and  try  to  get  a  little 
nap. 

The  country  they  were  passing  through 
was  covered  with  pleasant  and  fruitful  farms, 
and  once  in  a  while  they  would  stop  at  a 
clear  spring,  to  water  the  horses,  or  rest  in 
the  shadow  of  a  branching  elm ;  or,  meeting 
hay-makers,  Jack  would  have  a  chat  as  to 
the  best  roads,  and  where  they  had  better 
stop  for  the  night. 

In  this  way  the  day  passed  most  delight- 
fully ;  for  the  air  was  sweet  with  perfume, 
and  just  breezy  enough  to  keep  the  heat 
from  being  too  great.  .  As  they  neared  the 
village,  where  they  were  to  remain  till  the 
next  day,  Mrs.  Emmet  said, — - 

"  Don't  you  think  this  pleasanter  than 
being  on  the  crowded  piazzas  at  Burton 
Beach,  Amy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !    Mrs.  Emmet,  ever  so  much," 


38  CITY   COUSINS. 

replied  Amy.  "  I  felt  so  lonely  there  ;  but 
that  was  because  I  knew  nobody,  I  suppose." 

"Not  entirely.  I  knew  a  great  many  :  but 
it  was  distracting,  and  one's  thoughts  were 
constantly  turned  to  what  people  said  and 
did ;  while  here  the  silence  and  peace  and 
the  evening  calm  suggest  something  much 
better.  Look !  does  that  not  seem  as  if  the 
portals  of  peace  were  opening,  and  light 
from  the  far-off  land  of  happiness  were 
streaming  down  ?  " 

Amy  looked  to  where  her  friend  pointed, 
and  saw  the  setting  sun  tinting  snowy 
clouds  with  rose  and  violet ;  while  bars  of 
gold  parted  the  bands  of  color.  Below,  in 
the  valley,  was  the  soft  gloom  of  twilight. 
Mrs.  Emmet's  face  changed  in  expression ; 
and  Amy  watched  it  as  she  did  the  evening 
sky,  for  it  was  all  aglow  with  feeling. 

At  last,  with  a  sigh,  Mrs.  Emmet  said,  — 

"  Oh,  if  we  could  see  beyond  the  clouds  !  " 
and  then,  turning  to  put  an  extra  shawl 
about  her  little  companion,  she  began  quot- 
ing some  pretty  verses. 

"  There  now,  Amy,"  she  said,  "  that  is  as 


A   JOURNEY.  39 

near  as  I  can  come  to  being  a  poet ;  but  if 
ever  you  write  rhymes,  don't  forget  to  send 
me  a  copy." 

"  What  makes  you  think  such  a  funny 
thing,  Mrs.  Emmet  ?  I  just  hate  composi- 
tions." 

"  Do  you  ?  Why,  I  thought  you  looked 
quite  poetical ;  perhaps  it  was  valentinical, 
after  all." 

Amy  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said, 
"  valentines  are  worse  still." 

"  With  their  hearts  and  darts,  and  loves 
and  doves  ?  Oh !  I  love  them  dearly ;  but 
we  must  descend  from  our  high  talk,  for 
here  is  the  '  Wayside  Inn  '  and  supper,  — 
not  just  tea,  but  a  good,  substantial  supper. 
Di  is  getting  ready  to  unpack.  —  Here,  Di, 
is  the  bird-cage  and  the  basket.  I  will  take 
Amy." 

"  Oh,  please,  Mrs.  Emmet,  do  tell  me 
what  Di's  real  name  is !  Is  it  Dinah,  or 
Diana?"  asked  Amy,  in  a  low  tone. 

Mrs.  Emmet  laughed.  "  It  is  neither :  it 
is  Diademma.     Isn't  that  a  royal  name?" 

Amy  laughed  heartily,  as  she  said,  — 


40  CITY   COUSINS. 

"  Where  did  she  get  it  ?  Did  she  pick  it 
up?" 

"  No,  indeed :  her  mother  was  a  very  ro- 
mantic darkey,  and  coined  it  to  suit  herself, 
—  so  Di  lias  told  me.  But  Di  is  nearly  as 
old  as  I  am." 

Amy  looked  so  puzzled,  that  Mrs.  Emmet 
said, — 

"  Oh  !  fine  feathers  make  fine  birds.  Put 
me  in  Di's  alpaca  gown  and  poke  bonnet, 
and  I  would  look  as  old  as  she  does :  but 
here  we  are.     Come,  Amy." 


z^f 


CHAPTER   V. 


A   NEW   PET. 


r~TlHE  carriage  had  stopped  before  a  long, 
-*-  low,  wooden  portico,  at  the  door  of 
which  stood  a  ruddy,  short  man,  who  led 
them  into  ■  a  musty  little  parlor,  where  yel- 
low-and-red  sunsets,  and  grass-green  moun- 
tains, framed  in  gilt,  were  hung  on  the  walls. 
Out  of  the  parlor  opened  a  dining-room, 
with  uncarpeted  floor  and  unattractive  aspect. 
Mrs.  Emmet  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 

"  This  is  not  as  agreeable  as  it  might  be ; 
however,  we  must  make  the  best  of  it.  Let 
us  take  a  look  above  stairs."  So  saying,  she 
mounted  to  the  second  story,  which  com- 
manded a  fine  prospect,  and  the  rooms  of 
which  were  fairly  comfortable,  opening,  as 
they  did,  on  a  vine-covered  piazza. 

41 


42  CITY   COUSINS. 

"  Now  I  shall  astonish  our  friends  a  little, 
for  I  am  going  to  have  our  supper  out  here. 
Jack  must  bring  a  table,  and  Di  get  out  the 
alcohol-lamp,  and  make  some  chocolate. 
Ask  mine  host  if  he  has  a  juicy  steak,  or 
some  chops  and  fried  potatoes,  or  a  few 
fresh  eggs,  and  we  will  have  a  cosey  little 
feast." 

Amy  was  delighted.  It  seemed  very  odd 
to  be  eating  on  a  piazza  ;  but  they  did,  in- 
deed, have  a  cosey  time. 

It  was  quite  dark  before  they  finished,  but 
the  air  was  soft  and  balmy  ;  and,  though  the 
beds  were  hard,  they  were  glad  to  go  to 
them,  and  sleep  was  not  long  in  coming. 

The  morrow  dawned  beautifully  clear ; 
and  they  started  early  again  on  their  travels, 
so  that  they  would  have  time  to  rest  during 
the  middle  of  the  day  when  the  sun  was  hot- 
test. One  of  the  first  farms  they  came  to 
had  a  number  of  sheep,  and  the  cries  of  a 
little  lamb  aroused  their  sympathy. 

"Stop,  Jack:  there  is  a  woman  I  want  to 
speak  to,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet,  as  they  neared 
the    barn.       The    woman    approached :     she 


A   NEW    PET.  43 

had  a  pan  of  salt  in  her  hand,  and  the  sheep 
were  crowding  about  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  one  of  those 
lambs?"  asked  Mrs.  Emmet:  "it  cries  so 
piteously." 

"  It  hasn't  any  mother,"  said  the  woman, 
"and  we've  had  it  around  the  house  so  much 
that  it  has  got  sp'iled ;  but  my  man  don't 
like  no  petting  of  animals,  so  it's  had  to  be 
put  back  in  the  flock  again." 

"  Poor  little  lammie  !  "  said  Amy. 

"  How  much  is  it  worth  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Emmet. 

"  Do  you  want  to  buy  it  ?  "  responded  the 
woman. 

"I  don't  know.  Do  you  think  we  could 
carry  it  without  much  trouble  ?  " 

"  How  fur  be  ye  goin'  ?  " 

"Not  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty  miles 
to-day." 

"  Good  gracious !  Why,  it  ain't  much 
further  to  the  Gap." 

"  No :  we  hope  to  reach  there  by  even- 
ing." 

"And  what  would  ye   be   a-doin'  with  a 


44  CITY   COUSINS. 

lamb  there  ?  "  said  the  woman,  in  open-e}red 
wonder. 

"  Really,  I  cannot  say,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet 
smiling,  and  turning  towards  Amy. 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  it,  Amy  ?  " 

The  lamb  had  kept  up  its  pitiful  cry,  and 
Amy  was  regarding  it  with  longing  looks. 

"  Oh  !  wouldn't  I  ?  "  was  all  Amy  could 
ejaculate  in  an  ecstatic  manner. 

The  woman  picked  it  up,  and  put  it  in  her 
arms,  saying,  — 

"There,  I  don't  mind  givin'  it  to  ye,  so's 
ye'll  be  kind  to  it.'" 

A  cry  of  joy  escaped  Amy,  as  she  hugged 
the  woolly  little  creature  in  a  close  embrace ; 
and    Mrs.  Emmet   took  out  her  purse,  say- 

ing>  — 

"  You  are  very  kind  ;  and,  I  assure  you,  we 
appreciate  the  tenderness  which  would  make 
you  willing  to  lose  it,  rather  than  have  it 
unhappy  ;  but  I  prefer  to  buy  it.  Will  that 
do  ?  " 

She  handed  a  dollar  bill  to  the  woman, 
who  nodded  her  assent;  and  they  drove  on. 

Amy    was    too    happy    to    speak.       She 


A   NEW   PET.  45 

thought  she  never  had  seen  quite  so  lovely  a 
lamb ;  and  she  was  sure  no  one  could  be  so 
nearly  perfect  as  Mrs.  Emmet,  who  looked 
complacently  at  her  as  she  petted  and 
stroked  her  little  treasure,  while  Di  and 
Jack  grinned,  and  nudged  each  other, 
and  muttered,  "  What  next,  I  wonder  !  " 

They  were  evidently  used  to  the  generous 
impulses  of  their  mistress. 

And  so  they  journeyed  on  until  midday ; 
Avhen  the  horses  were  unharnessed,  and 
given  all  the  oats  they  wanted,  while  Amy 
fed  her  lamb  with  clover,  and  tied  a  blue 
ribbon  on  its  neck. 

They  had  now  reached  the  mountainous 
region,  through  which  the  Delaware  winds 
so  picturesquely,  and  were  in  sight  of  the 
high  and  narrow  gorge  which  constitutes  the 
"Gap."  It  was  so  wild  and  grand,  that,  leav- 
ing the  carriage  to  Di  and  Jack,  Mrs.  Emmet 
and  Amy  strolled  at  their  leisure,  the  lamb 
frisking  by  their  side. 

"  O  dear  Mrs.  Emmet !  "  said  Amy.  "  I 
am  so  happy  that  it  almost  makes  me  dreary 
to  think  of  my  cousins  at  Burton  Beach." 


46  CITY   C0USIN8. 

"  How  so,  Amy  ? "  said  Mrs.  Emmet, 
plucking  the  wild  roses  which  grew  in  pro- 
fusion about  them. 

"  Why,  it  doesn't  seem  fair  for  me  to  have 
so  much  more  fun  than  they,"  answered 
Amy. 

If  she  could  have  known  in  what  real 
trouble  they  were  just  at  that  moment,  she 
would  have  been  much  more  concerned ;  but 
Mrs.  Emmet  only  said  lightly, — 

"  Don't  waste  your  pity,  my  dear :  they 
think  you  much  worse  off,  and  only  wonder 
how  you  can  possibly  endure  the  companion- 
ship of  an  old  woman  like  myself;  besides, 
they  like  their  boating  and  fishing,  and,  most 
of  all,  their  dressing  and  dancing,  and  I  am 
afraid  would  not  be  very  happy  without 
excitement.'' 

"  I  wish  it  wasn't  so,"  said  Amy :  "  they 
don't  know  what  they  miss." 

"  That  is  very  true,  they  do  not ;  nor  does 
any  one  who  is  perpetually  craving  some- 
thing artificial.  But  we  will  soon  be  in  a 
large  hotel  again,  and  will  find  it  difficult  to 
be  just  as  quiet  and  sympathetic  as  we  might 


A   NEW   PET.  47 

wish  ;  one  thing,  however,  I  shall  require  of 
you,  Amy,  —  some  settled  time  for  reading 
and  writing ;  and  we  must  keep  early  hours. 
I  have  engaged  rooms  enough  to  enable  us 
to  have  all  the  privacy  needful.  You  are 
already  looking  like  a  different  child,  but 
I  must  have  you  well  and  strong  before  I 
take  3'ou  home." 

"  And  will  you  really  go  with  me  to  my 
home,  Mrs.  Emmet?" 

"I  should  like  to  —  very  much." 

"  And  see  my  mother  and  father  and  aunt 
Kitty?" 

"  Yes,  indeed :  do  you  think  they  would 
care  to  know  me  ?  " 

"  Care  !  they  would  be  ever  so  glad ;  and 
our  spare  room  is  just  sweet  —  I  know  you 
would  like  it ;  and  aunt  Kitty  makes  such 
delicious  buscuit ;  and  perhaps  the  plums 
would  be  ripe — we  have  such  nice  plums; 
and  mother's  cottage  cheese  every  one  says 
is  so  good;  and  father  has  a  book-room,  —  it 
ought  to  be  called  a  library,  but  it  isn't, 
though  it  is  full  of  books,  and  I  am  sure  you 
would   find   plenty    to    read :    but    I    forget 


48  CITY   COUSINS. 

that  you  have  every  thing  so  much  nicer,  I 
suppose/'  and  Amy  stopped  short  with  a 
disconcerted  look. 

Mrs.  Emmet  had  listened  to  her  so  sympa- 
thetically, that  she  laughed  to  see  the  sud- 
den, crest-fallen  glance  Amy  gave  her. 

"  It  is  dreadful  to  be  thought  such  a  Great 
Mogul,  Amy :  nothing  that  I  have  is  any 
nicer  than  your  generous  and  warm  hospi- 
tality, and  I  am  certain  I  shall  like  every 
thing  you  have  told  me  about." 

"  But,  all  the  same,  I  can't  help  wishing 
you  hadn't  every  thing  quite  so  grand,"  said 
Amy,  with  a  little  sigh. 

"Don't  let  that  distress  you,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Emmet  again. 

And  so  they  chatted  and  rambled  till 
tired,  and  glad  to  take  to  wheels  again  ;  and 
before  night  they  were  safely  lodged  in  the 
hotel,  where  we  will  leave  them,  to  see  what 
Belle  and  Vincent  have  been  doing;. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


A   BALL. 


FT  was  a  beautiful  night  at  Burton  Beach. 
-*-  The  waves  were  rolling  in,  one  over  the 
other,  breaking  in  foam,  which  the  moon 
made  silver.  The  stars  shone,  too,  as  if 
newly  made  ;  and  one  looked  in  vain  up  to 
the  heavens  for  a  cloud  of  even  the  size  of  a 
man's  hand.  Nature  may  seem  to  whisper 
of  coming  evil  when  the  wind  sighs  in  the 
tree-tops,  or  moans  in  the  blast,  but  not 
when  she  smiles  with  the  serenity  of  beauty 
and  peace. 

From  the  many-lighted  windows  of  the 
hotels  came  sounds  of  mirth  and  music,  for 
few  found  the  charm  of  the  night  enough  to 
win  them  from  the  gayety  within.  A  chil- 
dren's ball  was  at  its  height ;  and  little  heads 

49 


50  CITY   COUSINS. 

which  should  have  been  pillowed,  and  little 
feet  which  ached  to  rest,  were  kept  busy  to 
the  tune  of  waltzes  and  cotillons.  It  was 
a  pretty  sight  for  the  thoughtless  to  gaze 
upon,  so  far  as  the  fairy -like  forms,  in  their 
glittering  gauzes,  moving  gracefully,  made  it 
a  scene  of  animation ;  but  a  sad  sight  for  those 
who  knew  that  the  seeds  of  disease  were 
sown  in  this  way,  that  all  the  sweetness  and 
innocence  of  childhood  were  being  injured, 
as  much  so  as  wild  flowers  torn  from  the 
meadow  would  be  wilted  in  an  atmosphere 
of  gas  and  heat.  And  yet,  mothers  and 
grandmothers  looked  on,  and  smiled  approv- 
ingly. 

Among  the  liveliest  little  dancers  were 
Isabella  and  Vincent  Travers.  Active,  lithe, 
and  graceful,  they  were  eagerly  sought  for 
as  partners;  and,  though  thoroughly  wearied, 
they  still  kept  on,  long  after  Tillie  and  Clara 
had  been  taken  off  to  bed.  Miss  Gaylord 
had  been  one  of  the  most  industrious  man- 
agers of  the  entertainment,  and  had  led  in 
so  many  of  the  dances  that  it  was  not  sur- 
prising that  her  own  strength  gave  out,  and 


A   BALL.  51 

that  she  had  allowed  herself  to  be  escorted 
upon  the  piazza  for  rest  and  an  ice  :  but  her 
long  absence  began  to  be  noticed ;  and  Isa- 
bella told  Vincent  that  he  had  better  seek 
her,  to  know  whether  they  should  continue  a 
favorite  measure,  or  change  it  for  another. 

Pushing  his  way  among  the  crowd  of  in- 
vited guests,  hotel  loungers,  waiters,  etc.,  the 
boy  found  a  few  people  pacing  about,  but  no 
trace  of  his  aunt.  No  one  could  answer  his 
questions,  and  the  cool  air  was  so  refreshing 
that  he  dallied  to  enjoy  it.  But  now  the 
crowd  was  fast  thinning :  the  gayest  ones 
were  departing,  sleepy  eyes  were  winking 
and  blinking,  little  heads  were  drooping, 
little  petulant  voices  were  fretting  and  fum- 
ing; the  sparkle  was  all  gone,  and  the  flat, 
stale  bitterness  of  satiety  and  fatigue  had 
come.  A  bell-boy  had  thrust  a  paper  in 
Vincent's  hand  while  he  had  been  looking 
for  his  aunt:  he  supposed  it  a  letter  or  a  bill, 
or  something  of  even  less  importance,  —  per- 
haps a  dancing-list,  —  and  had  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  then  had  sat  down  to  cool  him- 
self.    Before  he  knew  it,  sleep  overcame  him. 


52  CITY   COUSINS. 

Meantime,  Miss  Gaylord  had  come  back 
from  the  sands,  captured  tired  Isabella,  and 
gone  to  her  room.  Nurse  was  asleep:  no  one 
missed  Vincent,  who,  worn  out  with  fatigue, 
sat  in  the  treacherous  coolness  of  the  night 
air,  sleeping  heavily ;  and  there  he  slept  until 
the  night  watchman  found  him,  long  after 
every  light  was  out,  and  the  dim  dawn  was 
approaching. 

Was  it  any  wonder  that  the  next  day 
brought  headache  and  fever,  or  that  the  boy 
forgot  all  about  the  missive  in  his  pocket ! 

There  it  lay  in  the  best  clothes,  —  which 
were  only  worn  on  dress  occasions,  —  with  its 
message,  short,  sharp,  decisive,  unanswered. 

In  the  worry  next  day  about  Vincent, 
Miss  Gaylord  did  not  hear  the  news  of  a 
heavy  failure  in  the  city,  nor  notice  the 
looks  bent  towards  her.  Isabella  had  to 
amuse  tired  Tillie  and  Clara  as  best  she 
could,  though  very  wearied  herself. 

Another  day  went  by,  and  there  came  a 
letter  to  Miss  Gaylord,  who  fainted  when 
she  read  it.     It  ran  thus,  — 


A  BALL.  53 

My  dear  Clara,  —  Since  no  answer  to  our  tele- 
gram has  come,  I  shall  be  unable  to  meet  you.  In  it 
I  told  you  to  return  at  once,  as  Edward  and  I  leave 
town  this  evening.  Edward  is  greatly  depressed  with 
all  our  trouble,  the  more  so,  that  we  are  obliged  to 
have  the  children  come  home;  but  there  is  no  alterna- 
tive. I  have  discharged  all  the  servants :  they  were 
only  too  ready  to  go.  When  a  ship  is  sinking,  even 
the  rats  desert  her.  Old  Ann  has  promised  to  come 
do  the  cooking.  If  nurse  will  remain,  I  will  do  my 
best  to  pay  her :  tell  her  so,  and  perhaps  she  will  at 
least  stay  until  I  come  back.  Every  thing  will  have 
to  be  sacrificed.  Taintor  has  behaved  most  selfishly. 
Vincent  will  sell  the  house,  but  must  go  to  Chicago 
first,  and  see  what  settlement  can  be  made.  It  is 
dreadful  to  have  the  children  come  back  to  the  city 
in  hot  weather,  but  I  have  no  choice.  If  you  can- 
not be  with  them,  Isabella  must  do  as  well  as  she 
can  without  you,  and  be  a  sensible,  prudent  little 
woman  ;  for  there's  very  little  money  to  do  any  thing 
with  now.  The  papers  exaggerate  our  debts,  but  they 
are  not  less  than  one  or  two  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
I  am  writing  most  hurriedly,  while  Vincent  is  packing  : 
he  looks  so  ill  and  careworn  that  I  cannot  leave  him 
even  for  the  children.     Kiss  them  for 

Your  Unhappy  Sistep. 

Isabella  found  this  letter  open  on  the 
floor,  and,  recognizing  her  mother's  writing, 
read  it. 


54  CITY   COUSINS. 

She  knew  at  once  that  her  parents  were 
in  deep  trouble.  She  knew,  also,  that  Mr. 
Taintor — to  whom  her  young  aunt  Clara 
was  supposed  to  be  engaged  to  be  married, 
and  who  was  in  her  father's  business  —  must 
have  acted  badly,  or  her  aunt  would,  not  have 
been  so  overcome.  She  had  recovered  from 
her  fainting-fit,  but  was  sobbing  on  nurse's 
shoulder;  while  Vincent  tossed,  uneasily  in 
his  bed,  asking  what  was  the  matter.  With 
white  faces,  Clara  and  Tillie  crept  to  her 
side,  begging  also  to  know  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

"It  is  something  about  money,"  said  Isa- 
bella; "and  we've  got  to  go  home." 

"Right  off,  to-night?"  asked  Tillie. 

"No,  not  till  we  can  pack;"  and  now  a 
bright  idea  came  to  Isabella:  she  would  busy 
the  children  in  this  way,  and  so  divert  them. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "let's  go  pack,  —  you 
your  dollies,  and  I  the  books." 

Clara  and  Tillie  began  immediately,  but 
Vincent  called  Belle  to  his  bedside. 

"  What's  all  the  row  about,  anyhow?"  he 
asked. 


A   BALL.  55 

"  I  think  we  are  very  poor :  something 
dreadful  has  happened.  Mamma  and  papa 
have  to  go  to  Chicago,  and  we've  got  to  go 
home ;  and  there  are  to  be  no  servants ;  and 
we'll  have  to  scrub  and  wash  and  iron,  I 
suppose,  like  tenement-house  people." 
"  Oh,  you  are  humbugging  me  !  " 
"  I  wish  I  was,  but  you'll  see  it  is  all  true : 
the  letter  says  so.  I  wonder  what  we'll 
have  to  eat.  I  wish  I  had  that  quarter  back 
that  I  spent  for  caramels  yesterday.  How 
Judith  Spencer  will  crow  over  me  when  she 
knows  it !  she's  just  so  horrid ;  but  perhaps 
we  won't  go  to  school." 

"  That  will  be  one  good  thing,"  said  Vin- 
cent. 

"I  don't  think  so:  it's  common  and  vulgar 
not  to  be  educated." 

"But  it's  jolly  not  to  have  to  study." 
"  Is  it  jolly  to  have  to  work  ?  " 
"  That  depends  on  what  the  work  is." 
"  Would  you  like  to  be  a  cash-boy  ?  " 
"A  what?"  with  a  look  of  scorn. 
"A  cash-boy,  or  an  errand-boy  to  rn^  with 
messages  and  parcels." 


56  CITY   COUSINS. 

"  I'd  go  to  sea  first." 

"  That's  harder  work  still." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that." 

"But  I  do:  I've  read  enough  about  the 
way  boys  are  served  at  sea." 

"  Well,  there  are  plenty  other  things  one 
can  do." 

"  There  may  be,  for  boys,"  said  Isabella 
thoughtfully ;  then,  with  a  sigh  and  a  com- 
pression of  her  lips,  she  said,  — 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  boy !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Vincent  decidedly,  "  it  is 
much  nicer ;  though  I  say,  Belle,  you  had 
lots  of  fun  in  the  German,  Wednesday  night." 

"  So  I  did ;  but  there'll  be  no  more  Ger- 
mans, or  any  thing  of  that  sort,  for  us,  and 
no  more  nice  dresses ;  and  everybody  will  be 
saying  how  sorry  they  are  for  us.  I  do  hate 
to  be  pitied." 

"  So  do  I ;  but  there's  one  girl  will  be 
glad." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Amy." 

Belle  gave  a  scornful  little  laugh,  but  she 
was  on  the  verge  of  tears. 


A   BALL.  57 

"It  is  what  big  people  call  a  judgment: 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  No :  for  I  don't  know  what  a  judgment 
is." 

"  Why,  it  is  a  sort  of  a  serving  right,  when 
a  feller  has  done  wrong." 

"  I  don't  believe  any  such  a  thing,"  said 
Belle  ;  but  inwardly  she  was  debating 
whether  it  might  not  be  as  Vincent  said, 
especially,  as  he  added,  — 

"  You  know  we  were  awfully  ugly  to 
Amy,  just  because  she  was  poor." 

But  here  Isabella  differed  at  once. 

"  It  wasn't  that  at  all ;  it  was  because  — 
well  —  because  I  just  didn't  care  anything 
at  all  about  her ;  and  do  you  suppose  God 
bothers  himself  about  children's  quarrels  ?  " 

Vincent  pondered  a  while,  and  then  re- 
plied, — 

"What  is  that  verse  about  the  sparrows?" 

"  I  don't  remember." 

"Let's  look  for  it,"  which  they  did,  in  the 
tenth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


A  BRIGHT  IDEA. 


TT  was  Saturday  morning  before  Vincent 
-*-  could  be  dressed,  or  Miss  Gay  lord  was 
equal  to  the  exertion  of  the  journey  to  the 
city.  The  children  found  some  amusement 
in  the  excitement  of  their  departure,  but 
none  in  the  heat,  dust,  and  bad  air  of  the 
dirty  streets  of  New  York.  They  arrived  in 
the  afternoon,  when  all  up-town  is  stagnant 
and  dull,  and  all  down-town  is  hurried  and 
noisy.  Clara  and  Tillie  were  the  only  happy 
ones  of  the  party.  For  them,  every  thing 
had  a  bright  side ;  but  nurse  was  worried 
and  fagged,  aunt  Clara  pale  and  listless,  and 
Vincent  weak  and  irritable. 

Isabella  had  turned  over  a  new  leaf  in  the 
book  of  her  experience,  and  was  beginning 


A   BRIGHT   IDEA.  59 

to  think  as  well  as  to  feel.  She  was  too  intel- 
ligent a  child  not  to  realize,  in  a  measure,  how 
altered  their  lives  were  to  be :  indeed,  her 
imagination  outran  the  reality,  and  painted 
for  her  pictures  of  absolute  suffering.  In 
every  pallid  child  playing  in  the  gutter,  she 
saw  a  possible  companion ;  and  she  wondered 
how  she  would  act,  and  in  what  way  other 
people  would  be  affected  by  it.  Her  pride, 
however,  was  great ;  and  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  bear  whatever  came  with  as  good  a 
grace  as  possible.  She  had  been  taught  to 
believe  in  God  and  in  the  Bible  ;  but,  as  a 
very  present  help  in  time  of  trouble,  she 
knew  nothing  of  that  One  whose  every 
thought  towards  us  is  merciful.  The  same 
might  be  said  of  her  aunt,  who  was  but  a 
thoughtless  young  lady,  and  little  versed  in 
sorrow.  To  get  rid  of  trouble  is  the  first 
impulse  of  such  a  nature  as  Clara  Gaylord's; 
and,  so  soon  as  she  received  an  invitation 
from  some  intimate  friends  to  visit  them,  she 
left  her  nephew  and  nieces  to  Nurse,  in  the 
great  empty  house,  which  had  been  arranged 
for  the  summer,  with  mirrors  and  pictures 


60  CITY   COUSINS. 

draped,  to  protect  them  from  the  flies  and 
dust,  and  every  handsome  article  of  furniture 
muffled  in  linen  or  tied  up  in  gauze  for  the 
same  purpose. 

It  was  dreary  enough  to  be  within  doors 
at  all  after  the  freedom  of  the  seashore. 
Children  need  air  and  space  and  sunlight  as 
much  as,  nay  more  than,  any  other  created 
thing,  and  the  summer  seems  made  for  them 
to  enjoy;  but  it  was  worse  to  have  every 
thing  wearing  so  desolate  an  aspect ;  for  the 
floors  were  bare,  and  their  footsteps  echoed 
on  the  stairs,  and  there  was  no  going  and 
coming,  no  visitors,  no  movement  of  any  sort 
except  their  own.  Vincent  would  not  be 
controlled  by  nurse,  and  would  wander  off 
to  the  docks,  up  to  the  park,  anywhere,  so 
that  he  could  get  out  of  the  house,  and  be  his 
own  master,  as  he  called  it ;  leaving  them 
anxious  as  to  where  he  was,  or  who  his  com- 
panions might  be,  and  fearful  lest  in  the 
heat  he  might  be  sun-struck. 

Old  Ann,  the  cook,  grumbled  because  she 
had  to  do  the  washing.  She  had  not  been  in 
the  habit  of  doing  it,  and  she  didn't  like  it 


A   BKIGHT    IDEA.  61 

Nurse  would  not  help  her  because  "it  wasn't 
her  place  to  do  it,"  and  because  she  had  all 
the  mending  and  darning  to  attend  to.  They 
differed,  too,  as  to  whose  duty  it  was  to  keep 
the  house  clean ;  and  neither  of  them  would 
wash  windows  or  polish  door-knobs.  Their 
conversation  was  not  elevating,  and  their 
spirits  were  much  cast  down  at  the  prospect 
of  lessened  wages  and  new  situations. 

The  letters  from  Chicago  were  merely  a 
few  lines  of  affection,  —  hoping  that  the  chil- 
dren were  well  and  good ;  and  each  one 
deferring  the  father's  and  mother's  return. 
Isabella  found  this  all  intensely  dreary ;  and 
Vincent,  having  staid  out  very  late  one  even- 
ing, came  upon  her  in  a  dark  corner,  crying 
bitterly. 

In  his  clumsy,  boy  fashion,  he  tried  to 
comfort  her;  but  the  pent-up  feelings  had 
burst  into  a  storm,  and  there  was  no  cessa- 
tion for  a  long  while.  As  she  quieted  down, 
he  managed  to  make  her  answer  his  ques- 
tions ;  and  they  exchanged  sentiments  after 
their  own  way. 

"  I  say,  Belle,"'  said   Vincent,  putting  his 


62  CITY   COUSINS. 

arm  about  her,  "  I  wish  you  were  a  boy :  it  is 
plaguey  hard  to  stick  in  the  house  all  day, 
and  suck  your  thumbs." 

"I  don't  do  any  thing  so  nasty,"  responded 
Belle,  half  smiling  through  her  tears;  "but  I 
suppose  I  know  what  you  mean :  I  don't  do 
any  thing  very  much  better.  I'm  tired  of 
reading,  and  Clara  and  Tillie  have  their  dolls. 
I  never  did  care  for  dolls.  O  Vin  !  I  wish 
we  could  do  something  for  ourselves." 

"I  wish  we  could;  can't  you  think  of 
something  ?  " 

"  I've  thought  and  thought  of  lots  of 
things." 

"What  sort?" 

"  Ways  of  making  money." 

"  Oh  !  I  didn't  mean  that :  I  meant  some- 
thing in  the  way  of  fun." 

"  But,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  great 
fun  to  make  money,  and  —  and  perhaps  help 
papa  r 

"  Yes,"  said  Vincent,  not  altogether  con- 
vinced. 

"Vin,"  said  Belle,  half  pushing  him  from 
her,  "  I  do  believe  you  are  afraid  of  work." 


A    BRIGHT    IDEA.  63 

''I'm  not,"  said  Vincent  stoutly.  "I  know 
well  enough  I've  got  to  some  time  or  other,  but 
there's  no  use  in  being  in  any  hurry  about  it." 

"  Yes,  there  is,  when  so  much  has  been 
lost  as  we  have  lost.  Don't  you  see  how 
dreadful  it  is?  And  it  is  going  to  be  worse, 
for  I  heard  nurse  tell  Ann  that  the  sheriff 
was  coming  here  soon." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  and  what  has  he  to  do  with 
it?" 

"I  don't  know;  only  they  always  do  come, 
Nurse  says,  when  people  are  unfortunate :  and 
it  is  altogeher  horrible ,  I  can't  endure  it." 

Here  there  came  a  fresh  burst  of  sobs. 

"  Oh,  don't,  Belle  !  What  is  the  use  of 
going  on  so  ?  "  said  Vincent  gently. 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  does  do  any  good," 
responded  Belle,  wiping  her  eyes,  and  quite 
touched  by  Vincent's  sympathy,  as  he  asked 
her  what  things  she  had  been  thinking  about 
in  the  way  of  making  money.  Deliberately 
checking  her  depression,  she  unfolded  several 
plans,  all  but  one  of  which  met  Vincent's 
instant  disapproval.  With  true  masculine 
instinct,  he  denounced  them  as  impracticable 


64  CITY   COUSINS. 

and  visionary ;  but  one  suggestion,  like  a 
little  seed,  took  root,  was  nourished,  grew. 

Belle  saw  approval  in  his  eyes,  felt  it  in 
his  impetuous  and  eager  seizure  of  the  idea, 
and,  like  a  wise  little  woman,  forbore  cum- 
bering the  general  plan  with  details. 

They  agreed  to  think  it  over  in  silence,  to 
meet  in  the  same  corner  the  following  even- 
ing when  Tillie  and  Clara  should  be  in  bed, 
to  say  nothing  to  Nurse  or  to  Ann ;  and  then 
they  kissed  each  other  for  good-night,  and 
went  to  their  beds. 

It  was  one  of  July's  hottest  nights.  The 
very  bricks  of  the  house  seemed  to  bake, 
and  all  the  air  to  burn.  No  cooling  dews 
touched  the  town  with  tender  pity.  No 
breeze  fanned  its  weary  citizens.  Almost  as 
pitiless  as  the  Day,  did  Night  fold  her  suffo- 
cating cloak  about  the  people.  Far  away  on 
the  beach  broke  the  surf,  with  cooling  moist- 
ure ;  far  away  on  the  meadows,  crisp  and 
green,  fell  the  dew ;  and  from  hill  and  dale 
went  up  the  scented  breath  of  flowers.  But 
in  the  town  little  children  wakened  to  weep, 
or  tossed  in  unresting  slumber. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


AN  UNWELCOME  VISITOR 


TSABELLA  and  Vincent  had  agreed  to 
-*-  meet,  and  talk  over  their  plan ;  but  Vin- 
cent was  so  late  in  returning  home  the  fol- 
lowing evening,  that  his  sistei  began  to  think 
he  had  lost  all  interest  in  it,  and  so  tired  was 
she  that  sleep  overcame  her. 

Although  it  was-  evening,  it  had  not  long 
been  dark ;  and  old  Ann  had  gone  out  to  get 
some  provisions.  Nurse  was  dozing  up-stairs, 
and  Tillie  and  Clara  were  in  bed.  Isabella 
had  curled  herself  up  in  a  corner  like  a  dor- 
mouse ;  but  she  was  presently  aroused  by 
some  one  attempting  to  step  past  her ;  and, 
thinking  it  was  Vincent,  she  jumped  up  with 
a  quick  exclamation,  which  was  instantly 
checked  by  seeing  a  stranger  —  a  rough-look- 

C5 


66  CITY  COUSINS. 

ing  man,  with  a  scar  on  his  face  —  standing 
beside  her. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  she  asked,  in  a  little 
spasm  of  terror,  which  passed  quickly  away 
as  she  saw  the  man  begin  to  retreat. 

"  Are  you  a  friend  of  Ann's  ?  "  she  added. 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "'  said  the  man,  smiling  now  at 
the  easy  way  out  of  his  predicament.  "  I  am 
a  friend  of  Ann's,  to  be  sure." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  her  ?  She  is  out," 
said  Belle. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  see  her.  I  was  just 
passing  by,  and  saw  the  door  open ;  and  so  I 
thoiiQ-ht  I  would  walk  in/' 

Isabella  did  not  like  the  man's  looks :  he 
was  not  nice,  and  he  gazed  at  her  with  a 
saucy,  insolent  expression,  as  he  said, — 

"When  will  Ann  be  home?" 

"Very  soon,  I  think,  and  so  will  Vincent." 

"Who  is  that?"  said  the  man. 

"  My  brother." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  man  uneasily.  "  Is  he 
big?" 

"  Not  so  very,"  said  Isabella,  indisposed  to 
be  exact,  yet  not  wanting  to  be  untruthful. 


AN   UNWELCOME    VISITOR.  67 

"  And  has  Ann  any  thing  good  to  eat,  do 
you  think  ?  or  to  drink  ?  " 

"No,  I  am  sure  she  hasn't  for  any  big 
man  who  is  able  to  get  it  for  himself.  She 
saves  scraps  for  poor  children." 

"  I  have  three  or  four  kids  who  would  like 
a  bite,"  said  the  man. 

"Do  they  know  that  you  go  about  beg- 
ging this  way  ?  "  said  Belle,  now  thoroughly 
indignant. 

"  Can't  say,"  said  the  man,  with  a  leer. 
"  But,  p'r'aps  you  have  some  pennies  in 
your  pocket." 

"  If  I  had,  do  you  think  I  would  give 
them  to  you?"  said  Belle;  then,  softening 
as  she  thought  perhaps  his  children  were 
very  very  poor,  she  added,  — 

"  Would  you  buy  bread  for  your  little 
ones,  if  I  had  ?  " 

"Don't  know, — p'r'aps,  p'r'aps  not;  but 
if  you  would  be  so  kind,  I'd  be  obliged." 

Belle  rummaged  in  her  pocket,  all  the 
while  thinking  how  Vincent  would  blame 
her,  and  how  much  they  needed  every  penny 
themselves.  At  last  she  brought  out  a  five- 
cent  piece,  saying,  — 


68     '  CITY    COUSINS. 

"  I  am  really  poor  myself,  so  I  can't  give 
you  any  more." 

The  man  laughed,  took  the  coin,  looked 
uneasily  about,  and  stepped  out  of  the  door, 
to  which  they  had  gradually  approached. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  tell  Ann  not  to  leave 
her  door  open  again,  or  she  may  have  more 
callers  than  is  agreeable." 

"  I  will,"  said  Belle,  greatly  relieved  to 
have  him  depart,  and  wondering  if  he  really 
knew  Ann. 

It  was  a  very  unpleasant  incident,  for  it 
certainly  did  look  as  if  the  man  were  dis- 
honest ;  and  for  a  long  time  Belle  could  not 
get  rid  of  the  disagreeable  impression  his  face 
had  made.  She  wondered  what  sort  of  chil- 
dren he  had,  and  whether  he  was  kind  to 
them.  Perhaps  he  was  not  so  bad  as  she 
feared,  for  he  might  have  been  much  ruder 
and  uglier  to  her.  Then  Vincent  came 
home,  and  she  told  him  what  had  happened. 
He  was  angry  that  she  had  given  the  man 
any  mone}^  and  at  Ann  for  leaving  the  door 
open. 

"  Of  course    he  came  to  steal,"  said  Vin- 


AN   UNWELCOME   VISITOR.  69 

cent.  "A  man  who  would  walk  into  a  house 
that  way  would  do  any  thing  bad." 

"But  he  said  he  knew  Ann." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  he'd  say  any  thing  to  get 
out  of  a  scrape ;  but  he  was  a  bad  fellow,  you 
may  be  sure.  And  now  let  us  see  how  much 
we've  got  altogether.  On  the  whole,  you 
were  pretty  plucky,  Belle." 

"  I  tried  not  to  let  him  see  that  I  was 
frightened.  But  do  you  really  believe  he 
was  a  thief?" 

"  Very  likely." 

"  He  might  have  knocked  me  over  as  easy 
as — -as  a  feather." 

"  Poor  little  sis,"  said  Vincent. 

"Anyway,  I'm  glad  I  didn't  scream,  or 
make  a  fuss." 

«  So  am  I." 

Then  they  plunged  into  the  depths  of 
their  proposed  project. 

"  How  much  do  you  think  we'll  need  for 
capital?"  asked  Belle  anxiously,  in  answer 
to  the  very  emphatic  opinion  that  "  there 
was  no  doing  any  thing  without  capital;" 
though  to  her  mind's  eye  she  saw  only  a  big 


70  -  CITY   COUSINS. 

capital  A,  such  as  is  in  primers  and  first 
reading-books. 

"Well,  I  don't  know:  how  much  have  you 
got?" 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  had  fifty  or 
seventy-five  cents.  There  may  be  more  in 
that  old  tin  bank ;  but  some  of  it  is  Tillie's, 
and  she  wants  it  for  missionaries." 

"  Bother  the  missionaries  :  charity  begins 
at  home,"  said  Vincent  impatiently. 

"But  it  shouldn't  stay  there,"  said  Belle, 
with  more  wisdom  than  she  knew. 

"  If  Tillie  is  to  be  benefited,  why  can't  we 
use  what  is  in  the  bank?"  asked  Vincent, 
knowing  that  his  reasoning  was  defective, 
but  wanting  Belle's  stronger  mind  to  meet 
the  difficulty. 

"  You  know  well  enough,  Vincent,  that 
we  have  no  right  to  use  any  thing  that  does 
not  belong  to  us,  no  matter  who  is  bene- 
fited," answered  Belle  very  promptly. 

"  I  don't  see  much  harm  in  it." 

"  But  it  is  there,  whether  you  see  it  or 
not :  it  would  be  very  wrong." 

"  How  would   it   do    to    have    Till    for  a 


AN    UNWELCOME   VISITOE.  71 

partner,  and  so  get  her  to  give  us  the 
money  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  find  out  first  if  it  is 
necessaiy?  She's  so  easily  scared,  that  she 
might  think  we  were  going  to  do  something 
dreadful,  and  tell  Nurse  ;  and  that,  you  know, 
would  spoil  every  thing.  Go  up-stairs,  and 
get  your  box ;  and  we'll  count,  and  see  just 
how  much  we've  got  altogether. 

Vincent  did  as  Belle  directed,  and  together 
they  counted  and  recounted  their  little  hoard. 

It  was  all  in  dimes,  half-dimes,  and  nickels; 
and  each  piece  had  its  own  little  history. 
This  had  been  given  for  one  object,  that  for 
another.  They  each  knew  their  own  purpose 
in  regard  to  its  disposal,  but  they  willingly 
set  aside  their  individual  intentions  for  the 
greater  plan  they  had  before  them. 

"It  must  be  grand  to  have  just  as  much 
as  one  wants,"  said  Vincent,  plunging  his 
hands  through  the  pennies,  and  chinking 
them  one  against  the  other. 

"Yes,"  said  Belle,  a  little  dreamily,  "if 
one  could  be  sure  of  not  becoming  miserly, 
and  hoarding  and  hoarding,  like  the  old  man 


72  CITY   COUSINS. 

in  the  piece  of  poetry,  who  was  found  dead 
with  all  his  gold  about  him,  —  he  had 
starved,  you  know." 

"Had  he?  Well,  he  couldn't  turn  it  into 
bread  ;  but  he  could  have  bought  lots  of 
cake." 

"  Yes,  if  he  could  have  got  out  of  his  dun- 
geon or  vault,  or  wherever  it  was  he  kept 
his  money ;  but  he  was  old  and  weak,  and 
hadn't  strength  to  crawl  away." 

"Yes,  I  remember;  but  I'd  run  the  risk  of 
having  lots,  and  spending  it  too." 

"  Well,  here's  a  dollar  and  a  half,"  said 
Belle,  ending  the  argument.  "  That's  all 
you  and  I  have  to  spend  now,  so  no  matter 
about  the  time  when  you  may  have  more  : 
I  daresay  you'd  think  you  had  not  half 
enough.  I'm  so  sleepy  I  can't  talk  any 
more :  put  it  all  in  your  pocket-book,  and 
let's  ceo  to  bed." 


CHAPTER   IX. 


BELLE'S  PROJECT. 


FT  was  a  clear  morning,  but  a  very  warm 
-*-  one  ;  and,  though  the  brother  and  sister 
had  passed  a  restless  night,  they  were  eager 
to  undertake  their  new  project.  This  had  to 
be  conducted  with  great  caution:  for,  though 
it  appeared  perfectly  feasible  and  right  to 
them,  they  were  sure  the  servants  would 
regard  it  as  absurd  and  irrational ;  and  noth- 
ing wounds  an  imaginative  child  more  than 
the  application  of  ridicule. 

"They  would  first  scold,  and  then  they 
would  laugh  at  us,"  said  Vincent,  jingling 
the  money,  which  fairly  burned  his  pocket, 
and  waiting  impatiently  for  Isabella,  who 
was  looking  for  a  basket. 

"I  think  tins  will  do,"  she  cried,  coming 

::: 


74  CITY   COUSINS. 

out  of  a  closet.  "  You  see,  it  has  a  cover, 
and  will  keep  the  hot  sun  off." 

"Off  of  what?"  asked  Tillie,  coming  in 
most  inopportunely  from  the  back-yard. 

"  Something  I'm  going  to  get,"  answered 
Vincent  in  a  vague  way. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  a  kitten  ?  or  rabbits  ?  or  white 
mice  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Vincent  again,  in  that  way 
which  was  so  mysterious. 

"  Then,  it  must  be  a  puppy,"  said  Tillie, 
clapping  her  hands.  "Oh,  how  lovely!  dear 
little  Clara  will  be  so  glad,  —  she  wants  some- 
thing alive.  We're  so  tired  of  baby-houses 
and  blocks  and  dolls  ;  and  there  are  no  chick- 
ens or  pigeons  here  in  the  hot  city,  not  even 
pigs.  I'd  be  glad  to  play — almost  —  in  a 
pigsty,  if  it  was  cleaned  out,  and  scrubbed, 
and  had  fresh  straw  in  it:  it  would  be  lots 
of  fun.'' 

"Well,  if  you  want  those  things,  you  must 
be  good,  and  not  bother  us  with  questions ; 
for  Vincent  and  I  are  going  to  try  and  make 
some  money,  and  then  we  will  take  you  to 
the  country;  and  who  knows  but  what  we 


belle's  peoject.  75 

may  be  able  to  buy  a  house  and  a  barn,  and 
all  the  cows  and  horses  and  chickens  and 
pigs  that  we  need  ?  " 

Tillie's  eyes  opened  wide  with  wonder. 
"  Really  !  "  was  all  she  could  say,  while 
Belle  went  on  romancing. 

"  I  have  often  heard  of  the  great  deal  of 
money  made  by  old  beggars,  who  in  the  day- 
time sat  on  street-corners  in  their  rags,  and 
at  night  counted  their  gold,  which  they  had 
hidden  away  in  chinks  and  crannies." 

"But  you  are  not  going  to  be  a  beggar, 
Belle,"  said  Vincent. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Belle,  looking  indig- 
nant. "  I  was  only  thinking  how  they  must 
have  saved  little  by  little,  and  wondering  if 
we  would  have  the  patience,  when  we  want 
so  much,  and  want.it  so  soon  ;  for  you  know 
you'd  be  a  grown-up  man,  and  I  a  woman,  if 
we  waited  very  long ;  besides,  I  want  every 
thing  pretty,  —  a  Queen-Anne  house,  painted 
olive-green  and  red,  and  tiles  in  it,  with  a 
lovely  lawn,  and  old-fashioned  chimneys, 
and  andirons,  and  a  sundial,  and  a  peacock, 
and,  — 


76  CITY   COUSINS. 

"  Oh  !  you  forget  all  about  the  chickens 
and  pigs,"  reminded  Tillie. 

"  No,  I  don't :  I  hadn't  got  to  those ;  for 
the  big  kitchen  for  old  Ann  would  come  first, 
and  a  Dutch  clock  in  a  corner,  and  a  wide 
settee  all  carved,  where  we  could  sit,  and  tell 
stories  in  the  dark,  and  — 

Here  Vincent  put  in  a  demurrer. 

"  No,  thank  you ;  not  after  last  night's 
performance.*' 

'"Hush?"  said  Belle  quickly,  glancing  at 
the  two  little  children.     "  You  forget,  Vin." 

"What  does  he  forget?"'  asked  Tillie,  in- 
stantly suspicious.  "  I  think  it's  real  mean 
of  you  and  Vincent  to  have  so  many  secrets. 
When  I  get  big,  I  won't  tell  you  any  thing, 
will  you,  Clara?  " 

"No,"'  said  little  Clara,  pouting,  and  try- 
ing very  hard  to  be  angry,  but  smiling,  in 
spite  of  herself,  when  Vincent  tickled  her 
nose  with  a  feather. 

"I  tell  you,  Belle,  we  must  go,"'  said  Vin- 
cent ;  "  it  is  getting  late." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Tillie. 

"  Oh,  somewhere  !  " 


belle's  project.  77 

"  I  mean  to  tell  nurse." 

Vincent  began  to  look  like  a  thunder-gust, 
bat  Belle  came  to  the  rescue. 

"If  you  won't,  Tillie,  we'll  promise  to 
bring  you  home  something." 

"  What  will  it  be  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet,  but  something  very, 
very  nice." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  do  my  very  best." 

"  Then,  I'll  promise  not  to  tell." 

So  off  they  went.  The  long,  warm  day 
dragged  its  weary  length  to  a  close,  —  a  day 
of  growth  and  richness  and  sunny  splendor 
on  the  farms,  but  a  day  only  to  be  endured 
within  brick  walls.  Tillie  and  Clara,  in 
their  little  muslin  slips,  went  out  to  play  in 
a  city  square,  when  the  sun  was  low  :  and 
nurse  took  her  knitting  to  gossip  with  her 
neighbors  on  the  benches.  She  knew  that 
Belle  was  with  Vincent ;  and,  since  Vincent 
had  assumed  to  be  his  own  master,  she  had 
weakly  yielded  to  his  wilfulness,  and  ridden 
herself  of  even  the  trouble  of  remonstrance. 
She  was  a  woman  of  an  easy,  amiable  temper, 


78  CITY  COUSINS. 

but  no  force  of  character, — just  one  of  the 
sort  who  are  often  considered  by  selfish  or 
indifferent  parents  to  be  "a  perfect  treasure." 
No  person  in  a  household  should  be  chosen 
more  carefully  than  the  one  to  whom  chil- 
dren are,  trusted ;  and  yet  how  often  are 
little  ones  given  to  the  keeping  of  ignorant 
and  indifferent  women,  who  have  not  the 
faintest  idea  of  the  responsible  nature  of 
their  duties!  But  even  nurse  was  aroused 
to  some  sense  of  her  failings,  when  the  twi- 
light verged  into  night,  and  still  there  was 
no  appearance  of  either  Vincent  or  Isabella. 
"Where  had  they  gone?  Why  did  they  not 
come?"  Old  Ann  stood  at  the  basement- 
door,  in  an  agony  of  apprehension. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  LOST  LAMB. 


rTlHREE  weeks  of  constant  but  quiet 
-*-  pleasure  had  Amy  passed  in  Mrs.  Em- 
met's society.  Together  they  had  rambled 
in  the  woods,— .and  gathered  wild  flowers, 
pressed  ferns,  and  secured  beautiful  moths 
and  butterflies  for  Mrs.  Emmet's  collection. 
Together  they  had  driven  over  the  moun- 
tain roads,  and  seen  every  point  of  interest. 
Wherever  the  lamb  could  be  taken,  it  had 
also  accompanied  them,  even  in  the  boat, 
gliding  down  the  Delaware ;  and  every  day 
Amy  made  a  fresh  garland  for  its  neck, 
which  served  two  purposes,  —  first  as  orna- 
ment, and  second  as  food  ;  for  the  prettiest 
blossoms  were  nibbled  remorselessly.  Amy 
had  tried  to  sketch  her  pet ;  but  the  funny 

79 


80  CITY   COUSINS. 

little  fellow  was  sure  to  make  some  move- 
ment of  head  or  tail,  which  upset  her  artistic 
attempts ;  and  the  result  was  much  after  the 
pattern  of  a  toy  Noah's-ark  animal. 

The  sweet,  pure  air,  so  full  of  life  and  re- 
freshing coolness,  had  brought  the  color 
back  to  Amy's  cheeks.  She  went  to  bed 
early,  and  rose,  not  with  tha  lark,  but  with 
the  first  bell,  and  was  known  by  all  the 
hotel  people  as  the  little  girl  who  was  never 
in  the  parlor.  She  lived  out  of  doors,  and 
when  not  with  Mrs.  Emmet,  had  all  the 
babies  who  could  toddle  running  after  her 
for  stories  and  games.  It  was  no  wonder, 
then,  that  her  happy  face  was  a  little  clouded 
when,  after  the  arrival  of  the  mail  one  morn- 
ing, Mrs.  Emmet  began  talking  of  going 
home. 

"Oh,  dear! ,1  was  all  she  could  say;  but  it 
was  said  so  dolefully,  and  with  such  an 
accent  of  despair,  that  Mrs.  Emmet  repeated 
it  comically  after  her,  adding  with  a  smile, — 

"Holidays  do  not  last  forever,  Amy  dear."' 

"  Oh,  no  !  of  course  not ;  but  this  has  been 
so  perfect." 


THE   LOST    LAMB.  81 

"  Then,  don't  you  think  other  little  people 
ought  to  have  theirs  ?  " 

"Who  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Emmet?" 

"  I  mean  some  poor  little  children,  whose 
mothers  and  fathers  have  to  work  so  hard 
that  they  have  no  time  to  take  them  to  the 
country ;  children  of  one  of  our  industrial 
schools,  in  charge  of  a  good  sister  Mary, 
who  writes  to  me  that  they  are  pining,  and 
reminds  me  of  a  promise  I  made  her,  that 
the  little  ones  should  have  an  outing." 

Amy  was  silent  So  long  that  Mrs.  Emmet 
asked  her  what  she  was  thinking  of. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  lovely  it  was  to  be 
able  to  do  any  thing  so  nice  ;  but  I  was 
thinking,  too,  that  now  3-011  would  not  be 
able  to  go  home  with  me,  to  see  mother  and 
aunt  Kitty ;  and  I  was  wondering  if  it  was 
very  wicked  and  selfish  in  me  to  wish  that 
some  one  else  would  take  those  poor  children 
away." 

"  Maybe  it  was  a  little  selfish,  dear ;  what 
then  ?  " 

"Then  I  must  try  not  to  wish  it,  I  s'pose. 
But  oh,  dear  Mrs.  Emmet !  it  will  be  a 
dreadful  disappointment." 


82  CITY   COUSINS. 

"  Then,  I  must  put  my  wits  to  work,  and 
see  how  I  can  manage  to  make  everybody 
happy." 

Amy  gave  a  little  twirl  of  delight,  and,  as 
Mrs.  Emmet  drew  out  her  writing  materials, 
danced  off  to  see  to  her  lamb,  but  in  another 
minute  came  back  in  consternation,  crying,  — 

"  My  lamb  is  gone  !  my  lamb  is  gone  !  " 

Mrs.  Emmet  looked  up  from  her  writing, 
to  see  tears  springing  into  Amy's  eyes. 

"  Where  did  3*011  leave  him,  dear  ?  " 

"  Where  I  always  do,  tethered  in  a  shady 
spot  by  the  brook.  Don't  3011  know  what  a 
pretty  place  it  is  ?  where  the  forget-me-nots 
grow  so  thickly." 

"  Are  you  sure  he  was  there  ?  " 

"  Quite.  Jack  always  puts  him  in  the 
stable  at  night,  and  I  take  him  to  the  brook 
directly  after  breakfast.  Oh  !  where  can  he 
be?" 

Mrs.  Emmet  folded  her  paper-case,  closed 
her  inkstand,  and  put  on  her  shade-hat,  say- 

ing,  — 

•-Come,  we  will  go  look  for  him." 

But  looking    was    in  vain :  there  was    no 


THE   LOST   LAMB.  83 

trace  of  the  lamb,  and  no  one  had  seen  him. 
A  cluster  of  sympathetic  children  divided, 
and  scoured  the  grounds,  but  without  find- 
ing the  missing  pet. 

As  they  passed  the  stables,  a  man  came  up, 
and  spoke  a  few  words  to  Mrs.  Emmet,  who 
listened  intently;  then,  motioning  for  Amy 
to  follow  her,  she  sped  up  the  ravine,  which 
was  dark,  even  at  noonday. 

"  Has  he  seen  him  ?  does  he  know  any 
thing  about  it?"  inquired  Amy  anxiously. 

"  Wait  till  we  get  farther  away  from  the 
house :  it  will  not  be  well  to  alarm  the  other 
children.  The  man  says  there  have  been 
gypsies  about." 

"  Real  gypsies,  such  as  are  in  story- 
books?" queried  Amy. 

"  Yes,  as  real  as  any  others,  I  suppose.  I 
have  my  doubts  as  to  them  all :  they  seem  to 
me  only  a  lazy,  wandering  set  of  beggars, 
ready  to  lay  hands  on  any  thing  that  will 
bring  money  or  food." 

"Oh,  my  poor  little  lammie,  my  poor 
little  pet !  I  hope  they  have  not  eaten  you," 
cried  Amy. 


84  CITY   COUSINS. 

"  They  have  hardly  had  time,  my  dear;  and, 
before  we  imagine  him  roasted,  let  us  see  what 
we  can  do  to  save  him  from  so  sad  a  fate." 

The  path  they  were  treading  was  a  narrow 
one,  leading  up  to  a  wood-road  where  they 
had  often  been  in  search  of  ferns:  it  led  to  a 
dense  thicket  of  young  birch  and  beech  trees, 
through  the  tender  leaves  of  which  the  sun 
shone  goldenly.  From  this,  they  emerged 
upon  the  road  which  followed  the  curve  of 
the  mountain :  it  was  canopied  with  pines 
and  hemlocks,  which  made  a  dense  shade, 
even  at  noonday.  Amy's  heart  was  heavy; 
but  her  feet  were  light,  as  she  tripped  over 
the  stones  and  fallen  branches,  pushing  aside 
all  the  obstacles  as  well  as  she  could  from 
Mrs.  Emmet's  way.  Birds  twittered,  squir- 
rels chattered ;  and  the  voice  of  a  brook 
made  melody,  as  it  poured  itself  over  mossy 
stones  on  its  journey  to  the  river. 

"  Hark !  I  hear  voices,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet, 
pausing  to  rest  on  her  mountain  staff.  "  Go 
on  a  little  way  by  yourself,  Amy,  while  I 
wait  here,  and  get  my  breath  ;  perhaps  you 
may  see  somebody." 


THE  LOST   LAMB.  85 

Amy  did  as  she  was  bidden.  The  road 
took  a  sudden  twist,  and  brought  her  face  to 
face  with  a  very  novel  scene. 

In  a  grassy  glade,  through  which  the 
stream  ran  merrily,  and  beneath  the  shelter 
of  some  fern  and  lichen-covered  rocks,  was  a 
group  of  people  of  every  age,  from  the  old 
dame  to  the  baby  in  arms.  Some  were  busy 
gathering  brush  for  the  bonfire  which  had 
just  been  started  for  the  noonday  meal,  others 
were  plucking  fowls  to  stew  in  the  big  iron 
pot  hanging  on  the  forked  sticks,  and  others 
were  erecting  a  tent.  Tied  to  the  larger 
trees  were  horses  unharnessed  from  the  vans, 
which  stood  farther  away,  and  which  had 
every  appearance  of  household  comfort,  be- 
ing^furnished  with  chairs  and  beds,  and  even 
muslin  curtains,  trimmed  with  lace,  and  tied 
with  ribbon.  Two  or  three  yelping  curs  ran 
in  and  out  amongst  the  goats  and  horses.  A 
woman  was  milking  one  of  the  goats.  Boys, 
stretched  at  full  length  on  the  sward,  kicked 
their  heels,  and  whistled  to  the  dogs.  A  girl 
of  Amy's  age  was  dipping  out  water  from 
the  brook  for  the  tea-kettle;  and  an  old  crone 


86  CITY   COUSINS. 

in  a  big  red  cloak  and  ruffled  cap  smoked  a 
clay  pipe,  while  her  fingers  kept  up  a  rapid 
clicking  of  knitting-needles.  It  was  a  scene 
of  rude  comfort,  made  picturesque  by  its 
setting  of  summer  beauty,  —  the  green,  inter- 
lacing leaves,  the  broad  lights  and  shadows, 
the  velvet  turf,  the  running  water,  and  the 
nodding  ferns  upon  the  gray  and  reddish 
rocks.  The  people  themselves  were  a  mot- 
ley crew,  —  old  and  young,  light  and  dark  ; 
burned  with  the  sun,  and  browned  with  tan  ; 
dressed  in  every  variety  of  color,  but  yellow 
and  red  predominating ;  with  faces  in  which 
the  coarser  emotions  had  left  their  traces, 
but  which  also  bore  a  look  of  careless  mirth, 
—  mirth  which  could  easily  be  turned  to 
wrath,  as  Amy  soon  saw;  for  at  that  moment 
one  of  the  boys,  stretching  his  legs  too  far, 
tripped  the  girl  who  had  been  getting  water, 
upset  her  kettle,  and  very  nearly  knocked 
her  down.  In  an  instant  there  was  an  up- 
roar,—  two  other  boys  set  upon  the  one  who 
caused  the  mischief,  the  old  woman  scolded, 
the  men  swore,  the  dogs  barked,  and  the 
babies    cried;    but   through    all    the    racket 


THE   LOST   LAMB.  87 

came  a  little  sound  which  made  Amy's 
heart  jump  for  joy :  yes,  she  was  sure  she 
heard  the  soft  bleating  of  her  little  lamb. 
So  eager  did  it  make  her,  that,  forgetful  of 
all  prudence,  she  pushed  aside  the  boughs, 
drew  her  thin  dress  from  the  detaining  bram- 
bles, and  in  another  moment  stood  among  the 
throng. 


CHAPTER   XL 


GYPSIES. 


"  "I    TI,  little    lady !    where   did    you    come 


XI 


from  ?  "  was   the  surprised  exclama- 


tion of  one  of  the  men,  as  the  gypsies 
gathered  about  Amy ;  and  many  were  the 
"  How-d'ye-dos  "  and  "  Good-days  "  and 
"Good-morrows,"  while  the  children  pressed 
closer  to  examine  her,  even  touching  her 
clothes,  and  pulling  at  her  ribbons. 

Amy  looked  about  her  with  some  trepida- 
tion, shrinking  from  the  dirty  and  curious 
little  fingers,  but  still  intent  upon  her  pur- 
pose. 

"  I  have  come  for  my  lamb,"  was  all  she 
said. 

"  What  lamb,  my  dearie  ?  whose  lamb  ? 
You're  a  little  lamb  yourself,  —  as  pretty  a 
88 


GYPSIES.  89 

little  lamb  as  ever  I  saw,"  said  the  old  wo- 
man in  the  ruffled  cap,  pushing  through  the 
crowd,  and  taking  the  pipe  out  of  her  mouth 
only  long  enough  to  speak. 

"I  mean  my  lamb,"  said  Amy.  "It  has 
been  taken  from  the  hotel  grounds,  or  it  has 
strayed  away." 

"  Oh,  yes !  that  is  what  has  happened. 
Lambs  always  stray :  I  never  had  one  that 
didn't." 

"  But  did  }-ou  take  good  care  of  it,  and 
feed  it,  as  I  did  mine  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  little  lady,  fed  it  on 
cream  and  roses ;  that's  the  way  we  always 
feed  our  lambs,  and  they  always  stray  away, 
always  —  to  the  butchers,  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"Oh!  you  are  joking,"  said  Amy,  "I  know; 
and  hark  !  there's  my  lamb,  bleating  now. 
Oh,  please  give  it  to  me !  please  do  !  " 

A  loud  laugh  went  up  on  all  sides,  —  a 
laugh  which  made  Amy  shiver ;  and  many  a 
rude  jest  was  thrown  at  her,  while  the  chil- 
dren pressed  closer.  She  looked  around 
anxiously  for  a  way  of  escape,  but  she  was 
now    the    centre    of    this    incongruous    and 


90  CITY   COUSINS. 

curious  crowd.  Some  of  the  faces  were 
sullen  and  handsome,  some  were  sharp,  and 
others  were  dull ;  but  all  were  dirty  and 
disagreeable. 

"I  want  my  lamb:  you  must  give  it  to 
me,"  she  said,  aroused  now  to  anger  and 
aversion. 

Another  laugh  followed. 

"  How  do  you  know  we've  got  it,  little 
missie  ?  "  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  I  hear  it  bleat." 

"Can't  there  be  more  lambs  than  one?" 

Amy  made  no  reply  ;  conscious  that  she 
could  give  no  proof  that  the  lamb  she 
claimed  was  her  own,  but  looking  from  one 
sunburned  face  to  the  other,  she  thought 
she  saw  a  gleam  of  kindness  in  the  old  wo- 
man's eyes;  turning,  therefore,  to  her,  she 
said  very  sweetky,  — 

"  I  know  that  my  lamb  is  here  :  if  I  give 
you  some  money,  will  you  let  me  have  it  ?  " 

"Let's  see,  first,  what  you've  got  in  that 
pretty  pocket.  My  eyes,  what  a  handker- 
cher  !  so  fine  and  nice,  with  embroidery  in 
the  corner.     I  do  declare,  that's  too  nice  for 


GYPSIES.  91 

my  nose ;  but  it  would  tie  on  Popsy's  pate. 
Here,  Moll,  hold  Popsy  till  I  put  this  on  him 
for  a  cap :  now  doesn't  he  look  cunnin'  ? " 
As  she  spoke,  she  arranged  the  handkerchief 
on  the  big,  fat,  brown  baby,  whose  tawny 
locks  stood  like  bristles  on  his  head.  Amy 
made  no  resistance  at  the  indignity,  for  she 
felt  that  it  would  be  useless ;  and  again  the 
old  woman  fumbled  in  her  pocket,  and 
brought  out  a  pencil,  a  needle-case,  and  a 
thimble. 

"  Humph  !  "  grunted  the  woman,  "  no 
money  here,"  and  tossed  the  useless  articles 
to  the  children,  a  look  of  anger  chasing  away 
the  smile,  as  she  said  roughly,  — 

"  What  makes  you  talk  about  chink  when 
you  haven't  got  any?" 

Amy  now  was  really  frightened,  for  she 
had  thought  that  the  old  crone  was  the  one 
from  whom  she  might  hope  for  justice. 
Tearing  the  pocket  from  her  grasp,  she  es- 
sayed to  run :  but  the  people  closed  in  upon 
her  as  if  she  had  been  a  wild  animal  whom 
they  must  not  let  escape,  and,  with  jeers  and 
taunts,  detained  her.     Just  at  this  moment, 


92  CITY   COUSINS. 

when  Amy's  face  was  blanched  with  terror, 
one  of  the  men  gave  a  shrill  whistle ;  and, 
with  a  quick  movement,  they  all  fell  back  as 
rapidly  as  they  had  gathered,  leaving  only 
the  old  woman  near  Amy ;  and,  to  her  sur- 
prise, the  beldam's  face  was  again  wreathed 
in  smiles,  as  she  picked  up  the  various  things 
she  had  been  scrutinizing,  —  the  handker- 
chief, thimble,  and  needle-case,  —  and  pre- 
sented them,  saying  in  the  most  wheedling 
way,  — 

"My  little  lady  mustn't  mind  our  wild 
ways,  no,  she  mustn't;  and  she  must  let  the 
old  gypsy  tell  her  fortune,  so  she  must, — and 
how  she's  to  be  rich  and  grand,  and  have  a 
coach-and-four,  and  wear  silks  and  laces,  and 
marry  a  rich  man/' 

Amy  could  hardly  believe  her  ears  ;  and 
she  was  so  trembling  yet,  with  fear,  that  she 
had  to  lean  against  a  tree  for  support,  when 
the  cause  of  this  sudden  change  became  ap- 
parent. It  was  Mrs.  Emmet  coming  down 
the  path. 

The  old  woman  courtesied  till  her  scarlet 
gown  swept  the  grass,  and  began  at  once  a 


GYPSIES,  93 

voluble  welcome,  blessing  the  day  which 
brought  their  tribe  a  visit  from  so  fine  a  lady. 

Amy  flew  to  Mrs.  Emmet,  and  put  her 
arms  around  her,  whispering,  — 

"  I  was  dreadfully  frightened,  they  were 
so  rough  and  cross ;  and  I  know  they  have 
my  lamb,  I  heard  him  cry  ;  but  they  Avere 
angry  because  I  had  no  money.  Oh,  do  let 
us  go  home  as  soon  as  we  can  !  " 

"  In  a  few  minutes,  my  love  :  if  they  have 
the  lamb,  we  must  try  to  get  him  from  them. 
Are  you  sure  it  is  here  ?  " 

"I  cannot  be  quite  sure,  but  they  were 
pleased  when  I  spoke  of  money.  I  thought 
you  would  let  me  give  them  some." 

"  Certainly  ;  "  and,  turning  to  the  nearest 
man,  Mrs.  Emmet  said,  — 

"  Have  any  of  you  seen  the  little  lamb  we 
are  in  search  of?" 

'•Well,  ma'am,  it  would  be  hard  to  tell: 
lambs  are  so  much  alike,"  was  the  answer. 

"Yes,  that  is  true  ;  but  ours  is  marked  :  lie 
has  a  small  "  A  "  branded  on  him  ;  besides, 
he  had  a  blue  ribbon  on  his  neck." 

"  If  you  would  just  walk  a  bit  this  way, 


94  CITY   COUSINS. 

ma'am,  and  take  a  look  at  our  cattle,  perhaps 
it  might  be  among  them." 

Mrs.  Emmet  followed  the  man  ;  and  Amy 
would  have  kept  closely  beside  her,  but  for 
the  strange  gestures  of  a  girl,  the  one  who 
had  been  so  nearly  tripped  while  she  was  fill- 
ing the  tea-kettle.  With  a  keen,  quick  look 
towards  the  old  woman,  she  began  to  speak 
as  one  might  do  to  a  deaf  person,  —  mouthing 
the  words  in  an  earnest  desire  to  be  under- 
stood, and  yet  uttering  no  sound. 

Curiosity  overcame  Amy's  terror  as  she 
watched  the  girl,  who  stopped  her  motions 
instantly  when  the  old  woman  turned  her 
head,  and  began  again  as  soon  as  she  was 
unobserved.  "  What  could  she  mean  '? 
What  was  she  trying  to  say  ? "  Evidently 
something  of  importance,  for  her  looks  were 
eager  and  impressive. 

The  man  who  led  the  way  for  Mrs.  Emmet 
was  very  polite,  and  endeavoring  to  make  a 
favorable  impression. 

"  The  little  lady  had  been  somewhat 
alarmed  at  their  rudeness,  but  they  hadn't 
meant  any  harm :   they  were  mild  and  peace- 


GYPSIES.  95 

able,  and  never  wanted  to  molest  anybody." 
"  You  see,  ma'am,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "  we 
live  in  a  free  and  easy  way ;  but  we  mind  our 
own  business,  after  all." 

"And  what  is  your  business?"  asked  Mrs. 
Emmet.     "  I  did  not  know  you  had  any." 

"  Oh !  there  never  was  a  greater  mistake, 
lady.  We  men  deal  in  horses,  and  our  women 
make  lace  and  tell  fortunes.  To  be  sure,  the 
work  isn't  hard  in  fair  weather;  but  when 
there  comes  a  rainy  spell,  and  our  hay  gets 
wet,  and  our  bones  ache  with  the  rheumatiz, 
and  food  is  scarce,  we  don't  have  every  thing 
to  our  liking." 

"  But  why  do  the  country  people  fear 
you?     Why  have  you  gained  their  ill-will?" 

The  man's  brow  darkened. 

"There's  good  and  bad  all  over,  and  two 
sides  to  every  thing." 

"  Not  to  lying  and  stealing,  or  barn-burn- 
ing," thought  Mrs.  Emmet ;  but  she  gave  no 
expression  to  her  thoughts. 

They  had  now  reached  the  spot  where 
the  cattle  were  tied.  Some  of  the  horses 
were  as  sleek   and  well-groomed  as   if  just 


96  CITY   COUSINS. 

from  the  stables,  as  perhaps,  indeed,  they 
were ;  others  were  like  their  owners,  coarse, 
shaggy,  and  wild-eyed.  They  whinnied  as 
the  man  approached,  and  pushed  their  noses 
over  his  shoulder  and  into  his  hands,  from 
which  they  nibbled  at  the  corn  he  took  from 
his  pocket.  A  little  way  off,  under  some 
maple-trees,  were  the  goats,  and  beside  them 
a  lamb,  so  dirty,  so  woe-begone,  that  Amy's 
heart  ached  to  think  it  might  be  hers. 

"  Is  that  the  critter  ? "  asked  the  man, 
pointing  to  the  lamb,  which  was  bleating 
piteously. 

"  Mine  had  a  blue  ribbon,"'  said  Amy,  dis- 
tracted between  the  abject  appearance  of  her 
pet  and  the  frantic  efforts  of  the  g}rpsy  girl 
to  make  herself  understood. 

"  That  might  easily  have  been  lost,"  said 
the  man,  smiling  grimly;  for  the  very  girl 
who  was  following  them  had  the  blue  ribbon, 
somewhat  the  less  dainty  for  dirt,  in  her  hair. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet;  "but  if 
the  brand  is  there,  I  think  I  must  claim  it." 

"I  don't  think  it's  quite  certain,  ma'am; 
but,  since  you  have  taken  so  much  trouble 


GYPSIES.  97 

nbout  the  critter,  if  you'll  just  allow  me 
something  for  having  picked  it  up  on  the 
road,  and  driven  it  along,  I  don't  mind 
giving  it  to  you." 

Mrs.  Emmet  made  no  remonstrance :  she 
felt  that  it  was  useless  where  people  had  so 
little  moral  sense ;  so,  drawing  out  her  purse, 
she  paid  the  man  as  much  for  the  lamb 
as  she  had  done  when  she  bought  it ;  though 
she  was  quite  certain  the  lamb  had  neither 
strayed  nor  wandered,  but,  in  plain  English, 
had  been  stolen.  She  did  this  because  she 
knew  she  could  prove  nothing,  even  if  she 
had  the  man  arrested.  Amy  led  her  pet,  by 
the  bit  of  twine  about  its  neck,  away  from 
the  goats,  and  it  frisked  at  sight  of  her;  but 
its  pure  white  fleece  was  so  sullied  that  she 
could  not  clasp  it  in  her  arms.  The  gypsy 
people  smiled,  the  old  dame  courtesied,  and 
begged  to  cross  their  palms  with  gold;  but 
Mrs.  Emmet  hastily  turned  away  from  their 
camp. 

The  last  thing  Amy  saw,  was  the  gypsy 
girl  standing  on  the  bank  of  the  brook,  her 
black    locks    hanging    about    her    face,    on 


98  CITY  COUSINS. 

which  was  a  mournful  expression.  Again, 
she  made  those  singular  motions,  looking 
fearfully  about,  to  see  if  any  one  beheld  her, 
and  striving  most  uncouthly  to  make  some- 
thing known  which  might  not  be  audibly 
uttered.     What  could  it  be  ? 


CHAPTER   XII. 


YOUNG  ADVENTURERS. 


'  \  \  J  HILE  old  Ann,  the  Traverses'  cook, 
*  '  stood  at  the  basement-door  of  the 
big,  empty,  shut-up  house,  which  looked  as 
if  no  one  ever  lived  in  it,  and  in  which  no 
one  would  have  guessed  there  were  two 
sleeping  babies,  and  from  which  had  gone 
forth  our  two  young  adventurers,  there 
drove  up  a  cab,  and  from  it  alighted  pretty 
Miss  Gaylord,  with  a  friend  whom  she  ad- 
dressed as  Mr.  Taintor.  The  troubled  ap- 
pearance of  the  old  servant  did  not  escape 
the  notice  of  the  lively  young  lady,  who 
shook  out  her  duster,  and  tossed  down  her 
bag,  saying,  as  she  fanned  herself,  — 

"Oh,  how  warm  it  is!    Do  bring  ice-water! 
and  where  are  the  children  ?  " 

99 


100  CITY    COUSINS. 

"  That's  just  what  I  can't  tell  you,  miss," 
replied  the  old  woman  ;  "  it's  I  that  have 
worrited  and  worrited  meself  the  last  half 
hour,  wid  wishin'  they'd  come  home." 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  they  are  out 
as  late  as  this?  " 

"  Indade,  an'  I  do  !  Master  Vincent  has  a 
way  o'  stayin'  and  stayin',  but  this  time  he 
has  his  sister  wid  him ;  an'  it's  not  a  dacent 
thing  for  a  young  slip  of  a  gurl  to  be  out  in 
the  strate  at  this  hour.  I  can't  think  what 
has  become  o'  thim  ;  and  it's  only  last  night, 
there  was  a  strange  man  came  to  the  house ; 
an'  between  such  goin's-on,  I'm  most  dis- 
thracted." 

"  Who  was  the  strange  man  ?  Did  he 
leave  a  message?  " 

"Not  that  I  knows  of,  miss,  but  it  has 
scared  us  all ;  and  now  to  have  the  childers 
stayin'  out  so  late  is  a  very  thryin'  thing. 
I've  been  to  the  corner  a  dozen  times  in  a 
minute,  but  not  a  sight  o'  thim  can  1  behold." 

"  Where  can  they  have  gone  ?  " 

"  I've  no  knowledge,  miss." 

"How  came  nurse  to  allow  it?" 


YOUNG   ADVENTURERS.  101 

"  When  the  cat's  away  the  mice  will  play, 
miss.  Nurse  minds  Miss  Tillie  and  Clara 
mostly,  and  lets  Master  Vincent  and  Miss 
Belle  mind  theirselves." 

Miss  Gaylord  said  nothing :  her  own  con- 
science was  troubled  ;  and  turning  to  Mr. 
Taintor,  who  had  paid  the  cabman,  and  sent 
him  away,  said,  — 

"  What  must  I  do  ?  " 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
twirled  his  mustache,  and  smiled  as  he  said 
carelessly, — 

"  Oh,  they're  all  right !  How  old  is  the 
boy?" 

"  Eleven  or  twelve,  I  forget  which.  Belle 
is  a  year  younger." 

"Master  Vincent  is  thirteen,  at  laste,"  said 
Ann. 

"  Then  they  know  enough  to  take  care  of 
themselves,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so?" 

"  Certainly ;  and  now  come  sing  me  some 
of  those  pretty  songs." 

"  Oh,  really,  I  do  not  think  I  can  !  "  said 
Miss  Gaylord,  following  him  to  the  parlor, 


102  CITY   COUSINS. 

and  leaving  Ann  in  the  hall  looking  the 
picture  of  despair ;  but,  feeling  that  she 
owed  something  to  her  guest,  she  opened  the 
piano,  and  sat  down  before  it.  Mr.  Taintor 
was  an  idle,  luxurious  young  man,  whose 
unwise  conduct  had  been  the  principal  cause 
of  Mr.  Travers's  business  trouble.  His  inti- 
macy with  Miss  Gaylord  was  not  liked  by 
her  best  advisers :  and  even  as  she  sang  his 
favorite  songs,  and  listened  to  his  flattering 
words,  she  felt  that  he  was  following  out  the 
bent  of  his  selfish  inclinations ;  for  it  was 
really  becoming  very  late,  and  she  was  much 
alarmed,  as  he  could  easily  see.  At  last  she 
arose,  and  said,  — 

"  You  really  must  excuse  me.  I  am  fa- 
tigued from  my  journey,  and  must  retire  —  as 
soon  as  I  can  do  so  with  any  assurance  that 
the  children  are  safe." 

Aroused  now  to  some  sense  of  his  uncour- 
teous  indifference,  he  made  all  sorts  of  con- 
jectures and  propositions,  offering  to  go  to 
the  police-station;  but  Miss  Gaylord  declined 
his  tardy  assistance,  preferring  to  send  Ann 
for  one  of  her  humble  friends. 


YOUNG    ADVENTURERS.  103 

Mr.  Taintor  then  bowed  himself  off,  and 
out  of  onr  story  ;  but  the  delay  occasioned 
by  his  action  was  just  enough  to  render 
futile  the  efforts  of  the  faithful  old  man, 
Dennis  O'Brien,  who  left  his  bed  to  go  in 
search  of  the  missing  children.  All  night  he 
wandered  about,  asking  this  one  and  that 
one,  describing  them  as  well  as  he  could,  but 
failing  utterly  :  and  all  night  Clara  Gaylord 
walked  up  and  down  the  lonely,  lofty  parlors 
of  her  sister's  house,  feeling  the  pangs  of 
remorse,  the  wearisome  anxiety  of  one  who 
knows  that  she  has  failed  in  her  duty ;  for 
now  she  was  sure  she  should  not  have  left 
these  young  things  to  themselves.  What 
could  have  become  of  them?  Where  had 
they  gone?  Why  had  they  wandered?  Worn 
out  with  her  fruitless  vigil,  she  sat  down  to 
write  telegrams  and  letters.  Perhaps  some 
caprice  had  led  them  to  join  their  parents : 
she  would  at  least  hope  that  this  might  be 
the  case  ;  and  so  when  old  Ann,  pale  and 
red-eyed  with  weeping,  brought  her  a  cup  of 
coffee,  she  strove  to  drink  it,  and  to  say,  with 
some  degree  of  calmness,  — 


104  CITY   COUSINS. 

"We  must  hope  for  the  best,  Ann.  I  think 
they  may  have  taken  a  train  for  the  West :  at 
all  events,  we  shall  soon  know  something.'' 

"Soon,  indade,  miss,  for  jist  look  here," 
and  the  woman  pointed  towards  a  corner, 
where  stood  a  boy,  so  pale,  so  weary,  and  so 
utterly  cast  down,  that  his  aunt  could 
scarcely  bring  herself  to  believe  it  was  Vin- 
cent. Springing  to  her  feet,  she  would  have 
embraced  him,  but  for  his  sullen,  sad,  — 

"  Don't,  I  can't  bear  it,  I  don't  deserve  it ; 
for  —  I  —  cannot  find  Isabella.'' 

"  Wasn't  she  with  j^ou  ?  "  asked  Miss  Gay- 
lord. 

"  Yes,  but  we  got  separated.  Oh,  dear ! 
how  I  wish  we'd  never  gone  !  " 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

Miss  Gaylord  and  Ann  put  the  question 
together,  one  on  each  side  of  him,  and  both 
had  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Everywhere,  —  all  over  town,  way  down 
town."' 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  We  wanted  to  make  some  money :  we 
thought  it  would  be  fun.     Belle  planned  it." 


YOUNG   ADVENTURERS.  105 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  " 

u  We  went  down  to  Staten  Island,  and 
gathered  wild  flowers.  Belle  thought  they 
would  sell  better  than  roses  and  things  that 
any  one  can  get  at  the  flower-stores ;  and 
then  wre  tied  them  up  in  bunches,  and  people 
bought  them.  But  oh,  my  !  how  they  stared 
at  us,  and  how  queer  we  felt,  and  how  we 
wished  we  hadn't  done  it !  It  was  so  hot, 
and  we  were  so  tired ;  and  it  was  so  strange 
to  have  money,  though  at  first  we  had 
thought  it  would  be  jolly ;  and  I  bought  a 
lot  of  fruit.  But  when  people  began  to  ask 
us  questions,  and  look  at  us  as  if  we  w7ere 
crazy,  Belle  began  to  be  ashamed ;  and  she 
said  her  feet  were  blistered,  and  her  head 
ached ;  and  a.  boy  was  rude  to  her,  and  I 
knocked  him  down,  and  a  crowd  gathered. 
And  when  I  had  fought  two  or  three  big 
rowdy  micks,  I  got  laid  myself:  and  then  a 
policeman  came  up,  and  sent  every  one  fly- 
ing; but  I  couldn't  find  Belle  ;  "  and  here  a 
great  sob  came,  to  end  the  long  and  despair- 
ing explanation. 

"  You  poor,  poor  boy  ;  and  where  did  you 


106  CITY   COUSINS. 

stay  all  night?  Oh,  if  you  had  only  come 
home,  how  much  you  might  have  saved  us ! ;' 

"  I  couldn't  come  without  Belle  :  I  was 
looking  every  place  for  her.  I  was  so 
frightened,  and  I'm  sure  I  saw  that  man 
who  came  here  the  other  night." 

"  Oh,  no !  you  imagined  it.  You  are  so 
weary,  you  must  go  at  once  to  bed.  Belle 
is  probably  looking  for  you,  or  safe  and 
sound  at  some  friend's.  Come,  dear,  let  me 
bathe  that  poor  black  eye,  and  get  your 
clothes  off." 

Vincent  was  too  tired  to  resist,  though  he 
could  not  but  wonder  at  the  strange  kind- 
ness with  which  Ann  and  nurse  and  his  aunt 
Clara  treated  him.  He  felt  so  guilty  of  folly, 
that  had  been  even  worse  in  its  result  than 
mere  folly,  and  so  distressed  about  his  sister, 
that  it  would  have  seemed  only  just  had 
they  all  denounced  him.  He  little  knew  the 
pity  there  is  in  all  good  hearts  for  those  who 
go  astray. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


BLASTED  HOPES. 


T3UT  where  was  Belle  ?  She  who  had 
-*— '  been  the  author  of  this  "nonsense,"  as 
Miss  Gaylord  called  it.  In  his  heart,  Vincent 
thought  her  brave,  noble,  wise.  He  remem- 
bered, with  a  pang,  how  full  of  life  and  fun 
she  had  been  in  the  morning,  when  they  had 
taken  the  big  basket  between  them  to  the 
car,  and  then  to  the  boat,  and  so  to  the 
shady  country  road,  where  ferns  and  daisies 
nodded  a  welcome  to  them,  and  they  had 
filled  the  basket  with  their  beauty.  It  had 
been  so  delightful  to  leave  the  noisy,  dirty, 
hot  city,  with  all  its  wearisome  rush  and 
roar ;  to  sail  on  the  blue  bay,  and  watch  the 
white  sails  flitting  by,  or  the  puffiing,  pant- 
ing tugs,  and  the  majestic  steamers  making 

107 


108  CITY   COUSINS. 

their  way  out  to  that  broad,  limitless  ocean 
which  was  so  great  a  mystery  to  these  un- 
travelled  children. 

And  Belle  had  taken  so  much  delight  in 
twisting  up  her  woodland  treasures  into 
pretty  little  nosegays,  putting  her  head  on 
one  side  to  see  if  the  effect  was  right,  —  a  leaf 
here,  a  flower  there,  a  spray  of  green  to  fin- 
ish. They  were  almost  too  pretty  to  sell, 
she  had  said;  and  she  had  half  a  mind  to  take 
them  all  home  to  Tillie  and  Clara.  How 
Vincent  wished  she  had!  though,  at  the  mo- 
ment, he  had  answered  scornfully  that  "that 
was  not  the  way  to  do  business."  Then 
Belle  had  laughed,  and  said  she  supposed 
not,  but  that  she  was  sure  if  she  sold  can- 
dies, she  would  never  be  able  to  resist  the 
temptation  to  give  them  to  every  child  that 
looked  with  longing  eyes  at  them  ;  and  then 
Vincent  had  told  her  she  was  "ridiculous," 
which  spurred  her  on  to  be  very  sharp  and 
severe,  and  ask  absurd  prices  for  her  bou- 
quets, which  made  people  stare,  and  snub 
them.  And  so  the  pleasure  of  their  expedi- 
tion  seemed   to  wane,  like    so   many   other 


BLASTED    HOPES.  109 

bright  things  which  sparkle  and  glitter  at 
first,  but  lose  color  and  brightness  when 
custom  stales.  They  had  been  so  cheery  at 
first,  so  hopeful,  so  courageous ;  and  when 
their  pennies  really  did  increase,  they  flat- 
tered themselves  that  their  attempt  would 
be  successful,  fully  worth  the  sacrifice  of 
some  feeling ;  for  Belle's  pride  had  been 
sorely  hurt  at  the  outset,  by  having  to  carry 
the  big  basket,  and  bear  the  gaze  of  so  many 
people.  She  had  worn  her  plainest,  oldest 
gown,  and  had  left  off  every  trinket  that  she 
was  in  the  habit  of  wearing ;  but,  in  spite  of 
all  she  could  do,  people  did  stare  dreadfully; 
and  she  could  not  help  wondering  if  Judith 
Spencer  —  her  great  friend  at  school,  though 
she  had  once  said  she  was  "horrid"  —  would 
ever  hear  of  this  performance.  Then  came 
the  big,  bad  boy,  who  snatched  their  flowers, 
and  grabbed  their  money,  and  would  have 
kissed  Belle  if  Vincent  had  not  knocked 
him  down.  He  had  been  so  excited,  so  furi- 
ous at  such  an  indignity,  that  he  lost  all  idea 
of  where  he  was,  or  what  he  was  doing;  and 
even  now,  as  he  thought  of  it  in  his  quiet 


110  crrr  cousins. 

bed,  there  came  to  him  only  the  echo  of  a 
great  uproar,  a  buzz  of  angry  voices,  shouts, 
yells,  jargon  of  street  sounds,  jeers,  whistles, 
and  nowhere  Belle. 

He  had  sobbed  till  his  whole  frame  was 
convulsed,  and,  from  sheer  weariness,  silence 
had  ensued,  —  sobbed  with  his  head  buried 
in  his  pillow,  lest  some  one  should  hear  him. 

And  then  soft  fingers  had  touched  his 
aching  brow,  and  a  sweet  little  voice  had 
said,  — 

"  Dear  Vinny,  look  up  at  Clara.  I'se  so 
lonely :  my  doll's  dot  a  broken  leg,  and 
nurse  can't  mend  it.  Won't  you  please  do 
sumpin  to  it  ?  " 

He  sat  up  then,  and  tried  to  please  little 
Clara ;  but  his  head  ached,  and  his  hands 
trembled,  and  all  the  time  he  kept  asking 
himself,  "  Where  is  Belle  ?  "  If  only  he  had 
controlled  his  anger,  and  not  fought  that 
dreadful  boy,  he  could  have  taken  better 
care  of  his  elder  sister ;  but  certainly,  if  ever 
anger  was  just,  his  had  been.  And  then  he 
thought  with  great  tenderness  of  all  Belle's 
goodness  to  him,  her  unselfishness,  her  cour- 


BLASTED   HOPES.  Ill 

age :  her  faults  seemed  very  trivial,  mere 
nothings.  And  what  a  pretty  girl  she  was  ! 
What  bright  eyes,  and  soft  hair,  and  white 
teeth!  How  well  she  carried  herself!  how 
skilful  in  all  their  games  !  almost  equal  to 
a  boy.  He  wondered  what  his  father  and 
mother  would  think,  what  people  generally 
would  say ;  and  then  he  thought  of  Amy,  and 
wished  that  he  knew  something  about  her : 
for,  notwithstanding  his  rude  indifference 
and  neglect,  she  had  seemed  to  be  a  very 
nice  little  girl,  —  one  who  would  not  have 
laughed  at  this  freak  of  Belle's,  as  he  was 
sure  Judith  Spencer  would  do.  He  knew 
that  everybody  thought  that  Amy  had  been 
very  fortunate  in  winning  Mrs.  Emmet's 
friendship,  and  he  was  very  sorry  Belle  had 
not  done  the  same :  if  she  had,  then  every 
thing  would  have  been  different,  and  all  this 
dreadful  misery  would  have  been  averted. 
For  an  active  boy  who  hated  to  be  still, 
nothing  could  have  been  worse  than  to  lie 
all  the  long,  summer  day  thinking,  thinking, 
as  he  had  never  done  before ;  but  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do.     Nurse  insisted  upon  his 


112  CITY   COUSINS. 

staying  in  bed,  and  he  was  too  weary  to 
resist.  Tillie  brought  him  his  tea  and  toast, 
and  coaxed  him  to  eat ;  but  food  choked 
him.     Belle  might  be  starving. 

Miss  Gaylord  was  out  all  the  morning,  so 
was  nurse ,  and  old  Ann  had  to  have  the 
little  ones  with  her  in  the  kitchen,  so  that 
much  of  the  time  the  poor  boy  was  alone. 
Every  time  the  bell  rang,  his  heart  leaped, 
and  he  listened  breathlessly,  only  to  be  dis- 
appointed. 

The  room  became  like  the  walls  of  a 
prison,  the  air  hot  and  thick,  the  sunbeams 
scorching.  There  were  his  tools,  his  to}Ts, 
his  microscope,  his  paint-box,  his  dumb-bells, 
his  books:  he  wanted  none  of  them.  By  and 
by  his  eye  lighted  on  these  words,  "  Be  not 
far  from  me  ;  for  trouble  is  near." 

"  They  were  on  the  scroll  of  a  "  Silent 
Comforter,"  which  his  grandmother  had  hung 
in  his  room  once  when  he  was  ill  of  some 
childish  disorder,  —  one  of  those  maladies 
which  may  only  cause  a  ripple  of  solicitude 
in  the  family  life,  but  again  may  be  the  fore- 
runner of  a  great  wave  of   desolation.     He 


BLASTED    HOPES.  113 

knew  what  the  words  meant.  They  had 
been  spoken  by  a  great  king  to  the  great 
King  of  kings.  They  were  a  prayer  for 
help.  Could  he  use  them  now  ?  Perhaps 
God  would  hear  him.  At  least  he  would 
try.  And  so  with  meekness  and  earnestness 
he  said  some  simple  words  —  just  the  wish  of 
his  heart  whispered  to  his  heavenly  Father ; 
and  the  effort  quieted  his  anxious  thoughts, 
and  brought  a  sense  of  trust  and  hope,  the 
feeling,  that,  though  he  could  do  nothing,  God 
could  do  all ;  and  when  Miss  Gaylord  came 
in  towards  evening,  and  the  hot  day  was 
nearl}r  over,  and  a  faint  breeze  had  risen  to 
refresh  the  earth,  she  found  Vincent  sleeping 
like  a  baby. 

"  Hush ! "  she  said  to  nurse,  who  was  be- 
hind her.  "We  will  not  waken  him,  even 
to  tell  him  what  we  hope ;  for  he  looks 
two  3'ears  older,  with  all  this  worry  and 
fright." 

"You're  right,  miss,"  said  nurse  very 
curtly,  for  she  knew  it  would  not  be  long 
before  she  would  be  dismissed.  "  He  does 
look  older,  and  he  has  acted  badly  enough 


114  CITY   COUSINS. 

to  need  all  the  sleep  he'll  get :  worry  and 
fright  you  may  well  call  it." 

"  No  matter  now  what  he  has  been,"  said 
Miss  Gaylord  kindly.  "  We  are  none  of  us 
free  from  blame,  and  many  a  boy  might  have 
been  as  foolish  without  having  to  suffer  as 
Vincent  has  done." 

"  Children  are  a  terrible  bother  when  they 
choose,"  said  nurse,  in  her  most  impressive 
manner,  but  wondering  very  much  at  the 
great  change  in  the  lively  MJss  Gaylord. 

"She's  not  the  same  at  all,"  was  the  verdict 
pronounced  in  the  kitchen.  "  She's  never 
been  so  quiet  like ;  and  as  fur  the  way  she 
has  taken  this  mischief,  without  telegraphin' 
to  the  masther  and  misthris,  fur  fear  o'  clis- 
thractin'  thim,  I  think  it's  jist  wondtherful!" 

"An'  how  she  wint  round  to  the  perlice- 
stations,  and  talked  and  talked  in  that  asy 
way  she  has,"  said  old  Dennis  O'Brien,  tip- 
ping back  in  his  chair,  and  sipping  the  cup 
of  fragrant  tea  old  Ann  had  given  him.  "I 
niver  in  all  me  life  saw  the  aqual  of  it  ;  an' 
they  not  her  own  childer  at  all,  at  all,  but 
only  her  nace  and  nephew.     She  looked  bate 


BLASTED   HOPES.  115 

out  till  she  got  here,  and  that  despatch  came ; 
an'  to  think  it  might  have  come  sooner,  but 
for  that  imp  of  a  bye  loiterin'  on  the  corner: 
bedad,  he  should  be  throunced,  an'  it's  I 
that  would  be  glad  to  do  it.  Thim  mes- 
singer-byes  can  do  a  sight  of  harm  whin  they 
delay." 

"Dade,  an'  they  can;  but  what  did  the 
despatch  say  ?  "  asked  Ann. 

Dennis  pulled  a  bit  of  paper  from  his 
pocket,  smoothed  out  the  creases,  and,  with 
some  difficulty,  proceeded  to  decipher  the 
hastily  written  slip  :  — 

Little  gurl  answering  disthcription  seen  on  a  train 
from  Xew  York.     Will  follow  the  clue. 

(Signed)  Paul  Pryor, 

Chief  of  Police,  Easlon,  Penn. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


THE   GYPSY  GIRL. 


A  MY  was  busily  packing,  with  Diadem- 
-*■  -*■■■■  ma's  help.  Mrs.  Emmet  had  gone  to 
the  city  to  be  absent  for  a  day ;  and,  on  her 
return,  they  were  all  to  start  for  Amy's 
home,  the  pretty  village  of  Beulah. 

Packing  was  not  very  serious  work,  as 
conducted  on  this  bright  afternoon  by  Amy. 
She  had  taken  all  her  dresses  off  the  pegs, 
and  folded  them  carefully,  or  rather,  she  had 
tried  to ;  but  Di  had  revised  the  various  folds 
and  creases  with  the  dexterity  of  an  accom- 
plished laundress,  and  they  were  all  now  in 
an  even  pile  upon  the  bed.  Then  she  had 
gathered  her  books  from  various  corners,  — 
and  books  can  never  be  handled  without 
dipping  into  them:   it  would  be  like  meeting 

116 


THE   GYPSY   GIRL.  117 

a  friend,  and  not  saying  "  How  d'ye  do?  "  to 
pass  them  by ;  so  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  the 
trunk  was  as  empty  as  at  the  beginning. 
Then  she  took  a  fresh  start,  and  actually  put 
her  best  hat  in  the  space  designed  for  it,  fill- 
ing up  the  chinks  with  handkerchiefs.  This 
was  so  well  done  that  she  had  to  rest  a  while, 
and  contemplate  it,  what  she  should  do  next 
requiring  also  to  be  considered.  Meantime, 
Di  had  filled  one  of  Mrs.  Emmet's  boxes, 
and  locked  it.  As  Amy  heard  the  click,  she 
turned  an  astonished  gaze  upon  Di. 

"  Is  that  all  filled  and  finished,  Di  ?  " 

"  Course  it  is,  chile :  you  jist  play  at  pack- 
in'  ;  Ise  has  to  work." 

Amy  felt  rebuked.  "  I  ought  to  work 
too.     Suppose  you  show  me  how." 

"  Carn't  do  it,  missie ;  dem's  one  o'  de 
t'ings  ebberybody  must  larn  fur  demselbes. 
Yo's  no  call  to  work,  any  how." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  !  Do  you  suppose  I  am 
going  to  be  idle  all  the  days  of  my  life  ?  " 

Di  laughed. 

"All  de  days  ob  your  life  are  a  long  way 
off  yit.  Yo's  nuffin'  to  do  now  but  larf,  and 
take  t'ings  easy." 


118  CITY   COUSINS. 

Amy  resented  this  idea  entirely,  and,  to 
show  her  difference  of  opinion,  dumped  out 
her  drawers  and  her  work-basket,  and  began 
diligently  to  re-arrange  and  stow,  winding 
spools  and  sorting  worsteds,  stuffing  her 
boxes  till  they  threatened  to  burst,  and 
making  a  great  show  of  her  industry,  when 
there  came  a  low  muttering  of  thunder ; 
and,  looking  up,  she  saw  that  the  sky  was 
overcast. 

"I  must  go  put  my  lammie  in  a  safe  place 
before  the  storm  comes,"  she  said,  and  ran 
off,  leaving  Di  to  smile,  and  grumble,  and 
pick  .up,  and  put  in  order,  with  a  few  deft 
touches,  all  that  the  child  had  left  undone. 

The  lamb  was  tied  in  a  shady  place  near  a 
barn  ;  and  all  Amy  had  to  do  was  to  untie 
him,  and  place  him  under  shelter.  While 
she  was  doing  this,  she  saw  a  girl  watching 
her ;  and,  looking  more  carefully,  she  found 
that  the  ragged  dress  and  hanging  black 
hair  of  this  girl  resembled  that  of  the  one 
whose  strange  movements  in  the  gypsy  camp 
had  so  perplexed  her.  As  they  had  gone 
back    to    the   hotel,    Amy   had    asked    Mrs. 


THE   GYPSY   GIRL.  119 

Emmet  if  she  had  noticed  the  singular  move- 
ments of  the  girl ;  but  she  had  not,  nor  could 
she  account  for  them,  except  as  something  to 
excite  Amy's  curiosity  in  an  idle  way,  and 
without  any  motive  but  childish  folly.  And 
so  the  matter  had  been  forgotten;  but  it  was 
now  revived,  for  there  stood  the  girl  beckon- 
ing to  her. 

"  At  least,  it  can  be  no  harm  to  ask  her 
what  she  meant  yesterday,"  said  Amy  to 
herself,  as  she  shut  the  barn-door,  and  went 
over  to  the  fence,  behind  which  stood  the 
girl. 

Browned  to  nearly  the  color  of  a  mulatto, 
with  large  black  eyes,  and  hair  of  the  same 
hue,  the  girl  was  a  typical  gypsy.  She 
might  have  been  pretty  had  she  been  clean 
and  cared  for ;  but  she  had  the  gaunt,  im- 
poverished look  of  one  whose  food  is  coarse, 
even  if  it  be  plenty ;  and  her  bare  arms  and 
legs  were  disfigured  with  bruises.  As  Amy 
approached,  there  was  a  strange  play  of 
expression  on  her  countenance :  a  look  of 
wonder  and  expectation  were  succeeded  by 
anxiety  and  apprehension. 


120  CITY   COUSINS. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  thunder '? "  asked 
Amy,  by  way  of  opening  the  conversation. 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice,  "  not 
much:  I'm  used  to  it,  though  when  it  pounds 
down  awful,  I'm  a  little  scared.  One  of  our 
horses  was  struck  once,  'cause  it  was  tied 
under  a  big  tree  right  out  in  an  open 
medder." 

"That  was  quite  a  loud  peal.  I  think  I'd 
better  go  in  the  house,  unless  you  want  to 
speak  to  me.  What  made  you  act  so  queer 
the  other  day  ?  " 

"  What  made  you  so  stupid  ?  "  retorted  the 
girl  angrily. 

"  I  don't  know,*'  said  Amy  gently.  "  Was 
I  stupid  ?  " 

The  girl's  voice  changed  at  once. 

"/thought  you  were;  but  then,  I'm  not 
the  one  that  ought  to  say  so  ;  I'm  too  stupid 
myself.  I  can't  even  write  a  letter  or  read 
a  book."' 

"Oh! "  said  Amy,  quite  pitifully,  "I'd  like 
to  teach  you ;  but  I  am  going  away  from 
here." 

"  So  I  heard,"  said  the  girl. 


THE   GYPSY   GIEL.  121 

"  Why,  how  did  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  we've  all  sorts  of  ways  of  hearing  ; 
but  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  the  chamber- 
maid who  takes  care  of  your  room  has  been 
up  to  have  her  fortune  told." 

"  Up  where  ?  " 

'•  To  our  camp." 

« Indeed ! " 

"  Yes,  but  I  can't  stand  here  :  somebody'll 
see  me ;  and  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

"Why  can't  you  speak  to  me  hero?" 

"  Because,  I  tell  you,  somebody  may  see 
me ;  and  I  don't  want  to  get  licked,"  said 
the  gild  again,  in  an  anxious  tone  of  voice. 

"  Come  into  the  barn,"  said  Amy.  "  I 
don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  listen  to 
you  ;  but  I  don't  want  you  to  be  "  — 

"  Licked,"  said  the  girl,  supplying  the 
obnoxious  word,  and  leaping  the  fence  like  a 
squirrel. 

"  A  lickin'  from  old  marm  is  no  joke,  I 
can  tell  you.  Oh,  dear !  how  I  wish  I  could 
get  away  from  her  !  " 

"And  why  can't  you?"  asked  Amy,  her 
sympathy  thoroughly  aroused. 


122  CITY   COUSINS. 

"I  don't  knoAV  how." 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you.  Is  that  what 
you  wanted  to  tell  me  ? " 

Just  then  came  a  blaze  of  lightning,  and 
a  roar  of  thunder  like  artillery.  The  girls 
pulled  the  barn-door  to  with  difficulty  ;  for 
the  wind  had  risen,  and  the  rain  came  down 
with  sudden  speed.  The  lamb  began  bleat- 
ing with  terror ;  and  the  only  light  there 
was  came  from  a  dusty,  cobwebby  window 
far  up  among  the  rafters. 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  now  ?  "  asked  Amy. 

"  Not  much." 

"I  am  a  little.  I  think  there  is  some- 
thing so  awful  in  these  great  crashes  :  you 
know  some  people  think  it  is  the  voice  of 
God.*' 

"  Do  they?     I  didn't  know  that." 

"If  it  is,  then  God  must  be  very  angry," 
said  Amy,  as  another  deafening  peal  rever- 
berated among  the  mountains;  and  she  drew 
nearer  to  her  companion. 

"  You  needn't  mind  if  he  is,"  said  the  girl 
re-assuringlv,  and  laying  a  hand  gently  on 
Amy's  arm  :  "  I  am  the  wicked  one." 


THE   GYPSY   GIRL.  123 

"We'd  all  have  to  mind,"  said  Amy,  "if 
that  were  true  ;  but  I  don't  believe  it." 

"What?" 

"  That  you  are  so  very  wicked,  or  God  is 
so  very  angry.  He  sends  thunder  and  light- 
ning to  make  the  air  pure.  But  then,  you 
know,  one  might  be  killed ;  and  that  is  what 
makes  me  afraid." 

"  Yes :  I  suppose  everj-body  is  afraid  to 
die." 

"  They  oughtn't  to  be.  If  every  one  just 
tried  to  be  good,  they  wouldn't  worry  about 
dying ;  but  that  is  what  is  the  matter,  —  we 
don't  want  to  be  good,  and  we  don't  want 
to  die." 

"  I  do,  sometimes,"  said  the  gypsy  girl,  in 
the  low  tone  her  voice  had  a  trick  of  falling 
into. 

"  Oh,  no  !  you  can't  mean  it.  Are  they 
so  unkind  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  are ;  and  then  I  hate  them  all." 

"  That,  certainly,  is  very  wicked." 

"  Well,  I  told  you  I  was  wicked." 

"But  you  mustn't  be,"  said  Amy  earnestly, 
imploringly.     She  had  taken  the  lamb  in  her 


124  CITY   COUSINS. 

arms,  and  was  sitting  on  the  hay,  the  gypsy 
girl  beside  her.  The  rain  was  pouring,  the 
boughs  of  the  trees  creaking  against  the  side 
of  the  barn  ;  and  only  the  fitful  flashes  of 
lightning  illumined  the  gloom.  A  little 
shiver  of  fear,  that  did  not  come  from  the 
storm,  ran  through  Amy's  frame,  as  the 
wild  glances  of  those  bright  black  eyes  met 
hers. 

"  Come,  tell  me,  now,  what  was  it  you 
wanted  to  say  to  me  ?  for,  as  soon  as  the 
rain  stops,  I  must  run  to  the  hotel." 

"  Will  you  promise  not  to  get  me  into 
trouble  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  Certainly.  How  should  I  get  you  into 
trouble  ?  " 

"  You  might,  if  you  told  on  me." 

"  I  won't  promise  to  have  any  secret  from 
Mrs.  Emmet." 

"  Then,  I've  no  more  to  say  ;  "  and  the  girl 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  went  to  the  door 
with  a  rapid  step. 

It  was  still  pouring ;  and  she  hesitated  to 
plunge  into  the  rain. 

"Come  back,"  cried  Amy:  "if  what  you 


THE   GYPSY   GIRL.  125 

want  is  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you,  Mrs. 
Emmet  is  just  the  one  to  help  us  both." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am  ;  but  she  has  gone  to 
New  York,  so  perhaps  you  had  better  wait." 

The  girl  looked  disappointed,  as  she 
said,  — 

"  We  may  go  away  from  here  any  time,  — 
to-night  even.  And  there  comes  a  man ! 
Oh,  please  come  up  the  mountain  this  even- 
ing! you'll  be  sorry  if  you  don't.  You  know 
the  path.  It  won't  rain  much  longer.  I'll 
be  near  that  big  pine-tree  with  names  cut  all 
over  it.     Promise  you'll  come,  — quick  !  " 

"  I  will,"  said  ■  Amy ;  and,  as  the  words 
left  her  lips,  the  girl  dashed  out  into  the 
rain,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


AMY'S   INTERVIEW. 


A  MY  sat  as  if  spell-bound.  The  girl  had 
-*—*-  fascinated  her.  There  was  something 
so  odd  and  wild  about  her,  and  something, 
too,  that  made  her  so  sorry  for  her.  She 
wished  that  she  had  asked  her  more  about 
herself  and  the  strange  people  she  was  with. 
The  idea  of  a  girl  as  big  as  she  not  knowing 
how  to  read  and  write,  seemed  dreadful. 
And  then  that  awful  old  woman  who 
whipped  her  —  what  could  be  worse!  She 
stroked  her  lamb,  and  almost  cried  for  pity. 
But  the  storm  had  now  ceased :  the  wind 
had  died  down,  with  the  sudden  meekness 
that  it  shows  after  an  angry  gust  of  ill- 
behavior  ;  and  the  sun  was  shining  on  the 
dripping  leaves.  She  put  the  lamb  in  his 
126 


amy's  interview.  127 

place  again,  where  he  could  nip  the  sweet, 
wet  clover,  and  went  back  to  the  hotel,  to 
find  Diademma  darning  stockings,  the  sit- 
ting-room in  order,  her  trunk  neatly  filled. 
She  answered  Di's  questions  in  a  little  mist 
of  wonder,  remembering  her  promise  to  the 
gypsy  girl,  and  took  one  of  her  favorite 
books  to  her  own  cosey  little  corner ;  but 
she  could  not  read.  Then  she  dabbled  a 
while  with  her  water-colors ;  but  her  hand 
was  unsteady,  and  she  gave  that  up. 

"  Honey,  what's  de  matter  ? "  said  the 
good-natured  old  serving-woman,  answering 
her  own  question  as  soon  as  put.  "  De 
storm's  upset  ye,  but  it's  all  clar  now. 
Sha'n't  I  get  yo  tea  ?  it  would  be  so  lonely 
fur  ye  ter  go  down  ter  dat  big  table  full  o' 
people,  and  yo  all  alone." 

"  Thank  you,  Di :  I  wish  you  would,"  said 
Amy,  longing  to  tell  Di  all  that  had  hap- 
pened, feeling  confused  as  to  what- was  her 
duty,  and  wondering  if  her  promise  bound 
her  to  entire  silence. 

The  tray  came  up  with  all  manner  of  nice 
things   upon   it ;   and,  as  Amy  dipped   into 


128  CITY   COUSINS. 

them,  she  pondered  more  and  more.  Would 
it  be  right  to  meet  that  girl  all  alone  in  the 
woods,  as  she  had  said  she  would  do  ?  Yes, 
she  thought,  on  the  whole,  it  would ;  for  per- 
haps it  was  only  cowardice  which  prompted 
the  hesitation  :  but  Mrs.  Emmet  might  not 
like  it  if  she  went  without  telling  any  one, 
and  to  displease  Mrs.  Emmet  was  the  last 
thing  she  would  like  to  do.  So,  carefully 
putting  some  cakes  and  biscuit  in  a  paper, 
she  said,  somewhat  mysteriously,  to  Di,  — 

"  Di,  I  am  going  to  take  these  things  to  a 
poor  girl." 

"  Are  ye,  honey  ?  dat's  nice." 

"Yes,"  said  Amy,  moved  with  compassion, 
yet  still  not  wanting  to  reveal  too  much. 
"  The  girl  is  as  old  as  I  am,  yet  she  can't 
read  or  write  ;  and  she  has  a  very  cruel  old 
grandmother;  at  least,  I  suppose  she  is  her 
grandmother,  though  I  don't  know  her 
name." 

"An'  where  bouts  does  dese  people  lib?" 
asked  Di,  a  little  too  curiously,  Amy  thought. 

"  Oh  !  they  have  no  settled  home :  they 
wander  about." 


amy's  interview.  129 

"  Gypsies,  I  suppose,"  said  Di,  in  the  cool- 
est manner. 

Amy  looked  up  in  amazement. 

"I  didn't  say  so,  Di." 

"No,  chile,  I  knows  you  didn't,  but  I 
kinder  sospected  it :  mos'  folks  what .  ain't 
gypsies  hab  homes  to  lib  in,  an'  doan't  wan- 
ner round." 

Amy  made  no  remark,  and  the  old  servant 
continued,  — 

"  Dey  ain't  nice  folks,  honey ;  an'  I 
wouldn't  hab  nuffin  to  do  wid  'em,  ef  I  wuz 

yo." 

"But,  Di,  how  can  we  do  people  good,  if 
we  don't  have  any  thing  to  do  with  them  ?  " 
asked  Amy. 

"  Sho  enuff,  honey ;  but  den,  we  ain't  all 
called  to  do  good." 

"  O  Di !  yes,  we  are,"  said  Amy  indig- 
nantly. 

"  Wal,  in  one  sense  we  is,  but  not  in 
an  udder.  Now,  yo  knows,  ef  you  hab  too 
much  carryin'-on  wid  dese  yer  gypsy  folk, 
yo'd  be  de  wuss,  an'  dey'd  be  no  better." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 


130  CITY   COUSINS. 

"I  know  coz  I  know,"  said  Di  emphati- 
cally, ending  the  argument,  and  going  out 
with  the  tray. 

"  I  have  made  a  promise,  and  I  mean  to 
keep  it,"  said  Amy  to  herself,  slipping  down 
the  stairs  after  Diademma  was  out  of  sight. 
"  I  shall  tell  Mrs.  Emmet  all  about  it,  and  I 
do  not  think  she  will  be  angry :  the  girl  said 
I  would  be  sorry  if  I  did  not  come,  and  per- 
haps it  may  be  something  very  important 
that  Mrs.  Emmet  would  like  to  know." 

Thus  soliloquizing,  she  went  to  put  her 
little  pet  to  bed ;  and  it  was  an  easy  matter 
then  to  turn  down  the  lane,  slip  into  the 
woods,  and  find  the  path  which  led  up  to 
the  mountain. 

The  rain  had  cooled  the  air,  and  fresh- 
ened every  herb  which  lent  its  sweetness:  the 
soft  color  of  the  sky  was  fading,  though  it 
was  not  yet  dark ;  and,  as  Amy  pushed  aside 
the  young  saplings,  they  sprinkled  her  with 
moisture.  Sleepy  birds  were  piping  softly, 
frogs  croaked  from  the  river-side,  fire-flies 
began  to  burn  ;  and  a  pale  young  moon 
waited  for  Night  to  light  her  silver  censer. 


amy's  interview.  131 

Amy  had  a  brave  heart,  and  liked  an 
adventure ;  but  as  she  mounted  higher  and 
higher,  and  the  sound  of  voices  ceased,  and 
the  stillness  of  the  forest  surrounded  her, 
the  remembrance  of  those  rough,  rude  gypsy 
people,  and  the  way  they  had  treated  her, 
came  back  with  force.  What  if  this  should 
be  a  trap  to  catch  her  !  The  thought  took 
away  her  breath.  As  she  paused,  she 
thought  she  heard  footsteps ;  and,  turning 
hastily,  she  was  sure  something  darted  be- 
hind a  tree,  —  a  shadow  perhaps,  or  a  squirrel. 
Fear,  for  a  moment,  made  her  weak ;  then, 
summoning  more  courageous  thoughts,  she 
resolved  not  to  doubt  her  poor  friend,  the 
girl,  whose  ignorance  and  misery  appealed  to 
her  sympathy.  She  pressed  on.  It  was  get- 
ting dusky  in  the  woods  now,  for  the  trees 
nearly  met  overhead :  the  pine-needles  made 
the  path  slippery,  and  again  she  thought  she 
heard  pursuing  steps.  But  she  was  now 
thoroughly  determined  that  these  tremors 
should  not  overcome  her.  What  sort  of 
harm  could  any  one  do  her  if  she  gave  no 
offence?     Many  a  story  had  she  read  of  chil- 


182  CITY   COUSINS. 

dren  on  the  Western  prairies  encountering 
clangers  that  were  not  possible  in  the  Eastern 
States,  —  fire  and  flood  and  wolves,  —  all  for 
some  simple  kindness  they  were  able  to 
bestow.  She  was  sure  there  were  no  wild 
beasts,  for  it  had  been  some  years  since  deer 
or  bears  had  been  hunted  in  these  forests. 
Occasionally  an  eagle  had  been  seen  perched 
on  some  far-off  crag,  but  eagles  never  flew 
at  night-time.  Perhaps  the  rustling  of  the 
leaves  or  the  cracking  of  a  twig  might  be 
caused  by  a  rabbit  or  squirrel,  possibly  a  fox 
or  woodchuck.  And  then  her  thoughts 
recurred  to  her  favorite  historical  character, 
Joan-of-Arc  ;  how  brave  and  noble  she  was, 
and  how  many  lonely  vigils  she  kept  when 
she  was  a  maiden  on  her  father's  farm  !  how 
beautiful  her  visions  must  have  been,  and 
how  strangely  on  the  silence  must  have 
come  those  voices  she  heard  calling  her! 

Just  then  and  there  came  softly  but 
clearly,  — 

"  Amy  —  Amy  Travers." 

"Why,  how  did  you  know  my  name?"  she 
exclaimed,  more  surprised  at  this  familiarity 


amy's  interview.  133 

than  at  the  presence  of  the  gypsy  girl ;  for 
she  had  reached  the  big  pine-tree  which  was 
disfigured  by  initials  cut  in  its  bark. 

"  It  is  my  business  to  know  people's 
names :  old  marm  makes  me  find  them  out ; 
and  'cause  I  can't  remember  'em  all,  nor 
write  'em  down,  she  wallops  me." 

"  How  dreadful !  "  said  Amy. 

"You  may  well  say  so,"  said  the  girl: 
"and  it  is  just  to  spite  her  I've  come  to-night. 
You  see,  if  she  knows  the  names  of  folks,  it 
astonishes  'em  so  that  they  think  she  must 
know  more ;  and  that's  the  way  she  gets 
heaps  of  news  out  of  'em,  while  they  don't 
think  they  have  told  her  any  thing:  that's 
the  way  she  tells  fortunes.  She  really  don't 
know  airy  more  than  anybody  else :  she  only 
pretends." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Amy. 

"  Of  course  it  is.  You  don't  mean  to  say 
you  believed  in  fortune-telling?" 

"I  never  thought  much  about  it." 

"  Well,  it  is  a  great  humbug." 

"I  should  think  so;  but  oh!  I  am  so 
sorry   for  you,  and  I  do  wish  I  could  help 


134  CITY   COUSINS. 

you  in  some  way !  for  you  seem  so  unhappy. 
I  have  been  wondering  why  you  live  with 
people  who  are  so  unkind  to  you.  Can't  you 
get  away  ?     Must  you  stay  with  them  ?  " 

Amy  had  quite  forgotten  every  thing  but 
her  own  pity  for  the  girl,  who  seemed  much 
touched  by  this  evidence  of  it.  She  pulled 
the  ragged  shawl  down  over  her  eyes,  and 
Amy  was  sure  she  heard  a  sob.  Putting  her 
hand  gently  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  she 
said,  — 

"  Don't  cry.  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Emmet 
would  help  you,  she  is  so  kind  to  me.  Tell 
me  how  you  came  to  be  a  gypsy,  please,  or  if 
you  are  really  one." 

The  girl  tried  to  suppress  her  feelings. 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  I  haven't  time  now. 
When  they  are  not  cross  with  me,  I  like  to 
tramp  about  in  the  woods  and  fields.  I  can 
walk  miles  and  miles ;  and  I  can  ride  the 
horses  bare-back,  and  climb  a  tree  like  a 
squirrel :  but  it's  'cause  they're  so  cross  that 
I  hate  'em." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Amy,  unused  to  such  violent 
language.     The  girl  felt  her  shrink  from  her. 


amy's  interview.  135 

"  You'd  hate  'em,  too,  if  they  beat  you,  an' 
called  you  names." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Amy ;  "  but  that  doesn't 
make  it  right." 

"  No  more  is  it  right  for  them  to  hit  me." 

"  No,  to  be  sure  not :  that  is  why  I  should 
like  to  keep  3'ou.  But  I  forgot :  what  is  it 
you  have  to  tell  me  ?  I  can't  stay  long ;  for, 
though  the  moon  is  bright,  the  trees  are  so 
thick  that  the  path  is  dark." 

The  girl  looked  from  side  to  side,  and 
even  peered  about  among  the  bushes,  saying 
as  she  did  so,  — 

"  Somebody  may  be  looking  and  listening, 
and  I  don't  want  to  be  caught." 

Amy  could  not  help  comparing  her  to 
some  wild  creature  of  the  woods,  her  move- 
ments were  so  swift  and  }^et  so  wary.  After 
assuring  herself  that  no  one  was  near,  she 
sat  down  on  a  moss-covered  rock,  and  mo- 
tioned Amy  to  sit  beside  her. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


THE  MISSING  CHILD. 


STORY-TELLING  is  like  the  weaving  of 
a  braid,  —  first  we  pick  up  one  strand, 
then  another,  and  so  on  till  the  end  is 
reached :  therefore,  I  must  carry  my  young 
readers  to  the  point  where  Belle  Travers  was 
standing,  in  the  midst  of  a  street  rabble,  — 
the  centre  of  observation  as  the  sister  of  a 
boy  who  was  fighting  another  boy,  —  heart- 
sick, weary,  frightened,  and  forlorn.  AVas 
it  any  wonder  that  she  should  have  turned 
towards  the  first  person  whose  face  she  had 
ever  seen  before  ?  And  was  it  any  wonder 
that  this  person,  being  none  other  than  a 
man  who  had  entered  her  father's  house  sur- 
reptitously  the  night  before,  should  not  have 
wished  to  be  recognized  ?     Pushing  through 

136 


THE   MISSING    CHILD.  137 

the  yelling,  hooting  mob  of  urchins  who 
gather  so  easily  at  every  part  of  the  city, 
Belle  had  touched  this  man  on  the  arm,  and 
said, — 

"  Please  take  me  home." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  answered  the  man  gruffly  : 
"111  take  you  home,  of  course.  How  did 
you  know  me  ?  " 

"  By  this,"  said  Belle,  pointing  to  a  pe- 
culiar scar  on  his  face. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  man  gloomily. 

Poor  Belle  here  slipped  on  a  banana-skin, 
and  fell,  with  one  foot  doubled  under  her. 
As  she  strove  to  rise,  the  pain  was  so  great 
that  she  could  not ;  and,  though  the  man 
helped  her,  all  she  could  do  was  to  hobble 
along.  Just  as  the  man  was  about  to  put 
her  in  a  street-car,  she  recollected  that  she 
had  left  Vincent  to  the  fury  of  his  adver- 
saries :  she  begged  the  man  to  wait,  but  he 
seemed  quite  indifferent.  The  crowd  pressed 
around,  and  a  woman  joined  the  man.  They 
whispered  together  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  each  taking  her  by  the  arm,  hurried 
her  off  without  listening-  to  a  word  she  said. 


138  CITY  COUSINS. 

On  and  on  they  went,  till  they  came  to  one 
of  those  high,  narrow  houses  where  poor 
people  are  packed,  where  misery  seeks  mis- 
ery ;  and  here  they  halted  for  another 
whispered  confab. 

And  now  I  must  explain  that  this  man  was 
no  acquaintance  of  Ann's,  nor  was  he  a  con- 
firmed thief.  He  had  been  tempted  by  the 
open  door  the  evening  previous,  and  would 
undoubtedly  have  helped  herself  to  any 
thing  he  might  have  found :  but  he  was  not 
used  to  doing  daring  deeds  of  violence  ;  he 
had  taken  up  bad  ways  in  idleness,  and  by 
influence  of  evil  associates.  This  made  him 
timid  and  irresolute.  He  had  been  surprised 
at  Isabella's  recognition,  and  considerably 
annoyed ;  but  he  would  have  put  her  in  the 
way  of  going  home  had  he  not  met  this 
woman,  who  saw  in  the  situation  a  means  of 
getting  money  by  the  reward  that  would  be 
offered  if  Belle  should  be  missing :  and  so 
he  suddenly  turned  on  his  heel  after  the 
long  whispering  was  over,  and  Belle  saw 
him  no  more.  The  little  spurt  of  generosity 
he  had  been  capable  of  had  given  out,  and 


THE   MISSING   CHILD.  139 

now  the  child  was  in  different  hands. 
Belle's  spirit  of  self-reliance  did  not  forsake 
her.  The  pain  of  her  sprained  ankle  was 
too  absorbing  to  let  other  fears  assail  her ; 
and,  making  a  great  effort  to  control  herself, 
she  hobbled  up  the  stairs.  But  the  effort 
had  been  too  great,  and  she  became  uncon- 
scious. When  she  awoke  from  her  swoon, 
she  found  herself  l)ring  on  a  bed,  her  head 
being  bathed,  and  her  ankle  bound  up.  Her 
thoughts  were  in  a  dizzy  whirl ;  but  she  man- 
aged to  ask  where  she  was,  and  why  they 
did  not  take  her  home  ?  To  which  the  an- 
swer was  given  that  she  was  too  sick  to 
move,  and  that  she  should  be  taken  home  as 
soon  as  convenient.  This  quieted  her,  and 
she  was  better  able  to  notice  her  surround- 
ings. 

She  was  in  a  small  room  with  one  window, 
out  of  which  she  saw  roof  upon  roof,  tall 
chimneys,  and  a  bit  of  blue  sky.  The  room 
was  whitewashed,  and  had  a  chair  in  it,  but 
no  other  furniture.  A  tin  basin  stood  upon 
the  chair.  On  the  bed  was  a  patchwork 
quilt  which  looked  passably  clean.     Through 


140  CITY   COUSINS. 

the  open  door,  Belle  could  see  a  family 
living-room,  with  a  cooking -stove,  table, 
tubs,  dresser,  and  chairs.  In  one  corner  was 
a  sewing-machine,  with  a  pile  of  coarse  fabric 
beside  it ;  and  before  this  sat  a  woman 
working.  She  was  rather  young :  her  hair 
was  neatly  arranged,  but  her  dress  was  poor 
and  faded,  and  her  face  was  pale.  Beside 
her,  and  upon  the  heap  of  work,  was  seated  a 
baby,  not  old  enough  to  walk,  though  it  sat 
upright,  and  grasped  a  plaything.  The  wo- 
man who  had  brought  Belle  to  this  place, 
and  had  answered  her  questions,  seemed  to  be 
talking  in  the  sign-language  to  the  younger 
woman ;  for  she  made  many  motions,  and 
there  was  no  word  uttered  beween  them. 
Then  the  first  woman  departed,  and  the 
younger  one  resumed  stitching.  Belle  was 
not  sorry  to  see  the  elder  woman  go,  she 
was  so  disagreeable  looking.  She  was  a  big 
creature,  with  purplish  cheeks  and  heavy 
brow,  just  such  an  one  as  a  cook  Belle  re- 
membered her  mother  having  to  discharge 
for  her  bad  habits. 

After  watching  the  woman's  steady  tread 


THE   MISSING   CHILD.  141 

of  the  sewing-machine,  and  the  continual 
turning  off  of  the  rough  garments,  and 
wondering  if  she  never  would  stop,  Belle 
tried  to  find  something  else  that  would 
interest  her ;  but  the  heat  was  great,  and  she 
fell  asleep.  Wearied  with  all  her  novel 
experiences,  her  pain,  and  her  anxious 
thoughts,  she  slept  heavily  and  many  hours ; 
for,  when  she  awoke,  the  early  dawn  had 
but  just  begun  to  tinge  the  sky  ;  and  she 
gazed  about,  not  knowing  where  she  was,  or 
what  had  happened.  Slowly,  gradually  it 
all  came  back  to  her.  Where  was  Vincent? 
What  had  nurse  and  Ann  thought  of  their 
absence  ?  How  was  she  to  get  home  ? 
Thought  after  thought  surged  upon  her. 
She  sat  up,  and  rubbed  her  sleepy  eyes ;  but 
her  ankle  was  so  stiff  and  swollen  that  she 
could  not  move  it  without  pain.  Through 
the  door  she  saw  the  same  young  woman 
stirring  something  in  a  sauce-pan,  the  baby 
was  crying  lustily  from  some  corner  she  could 
not  see,  and  a  man  was  eating:  at  the  table : 
his  face  was  not  towards  her;  and,  in  another 
moment,  he  picked  up  a  tin  dinner-can,  and 


142  CITY  COUSINS. 

went  out.  Belle  called  the  woman  to  come 
to  her,  but  there  was  no  response  ;  and  now 
she  remembered  the  actions  of  the  day  be- 
fore, and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
woman  must  be  deaf  and  dumb.  If  so,  what 
should  she  do  ?  how  make  her  wants  known  ? 
Crawling  out  of  bed  on  her  hands  and  knees, 
dragging  her  painful  foot  after  her,  she  en- 
tered the  other  apartment.  The  screaming 
baby  saw  her,  and  stopped  in  amazement ; 
and  the  woman,  attracted,  probably,  by  the 
child's  movements,  turned,  and  discovered 
her.  She  smiled  in  a  pleasant  way,  and  her 
poor,  pale  face  looked  almost  pretty ;  but  she 
said  not  a  word,  only  pointed  to  Belle's  foot, 
shook  her  head  doubtfully,  and  pointed  to 
the  bed,  as  if  she  had  better  go  back  to  it. 
But  Belle  was  not  disposed  to  obey.  She 
threw  herself  by  the  baby,  and  took  its  little 
hands  in  hers.  They  were  clean,  and  so 
were  its  little  bare,  pink  feet.  The  mother 
nodded  her  approbation  at  these  friendly 
overtures,  but  signified  her  wish  to  have 
Belle  keep  her  foot  still  by  placing  the  baby 
on  the  bed,  and  leading  Belle  to  it,  where 


THE   MISSING    CHILD.  143 

she  soon  brought  water,  and  helped  her 
bathe.  Then  she  placed  a  bowl  of  oatmeal- 
porridge  before  her,  and  Belle's  long  fast 
was  speedily  broken. 

Refreshed  and  rested,  Belle's  mind  became 
clearer  and  stronger  in  its  action.  She  saw 
that,  for  the  present,  there  was  nothing  to 
fear  but  an  irksome  confinement,  and  that 
might  end  at  any  moment ;  for,  of  course, 
means  would  be  taken  to  discover  her  where- 
abouts :  so  she  set  herself  resolutely  to  make 
the  best  of  the  situation. 

It  was  the  same  warm  day  that  Vincent 
was  spending  also  in  confinement,  but  how 
differently !  The  same  hot  sun  poured 
down  on  the  two  houses ;  but  where  Vin- 
cent lay,  the  walls  were  thicker,  and  the  air 
purer.  All  day  long  the  poor,  mute  woman 
toiled  at  her  sewing-machine,  stopping  only 
long  enough  to  feed  her  baby,  serve  Isa- 
bella, or  drink  a  cup  of  water.  The  fire 
in  the  stove  was  allowed  to  go  out,  or  the 
atmosphere  would  have  been  still  more  sti- 
fling. The  baby  was  Belle's  sole  resource : 
in  his  one  small  garment,  he  seemed  fairly 


144  CITY   COUSINS. 

comfortable;  and  the  mother's  face  bright- 
ened every  time  she  looked  at  him.  He 
crowed  and  capered,  and  responded  to  all 
Belle's  efforts  to  please  him ;  and  the  day, 
though  a  long  and  tedious  one,  was  less 
dreary  than  it  would  have  been  without  his 
little  presence ;  but  as  evening  drew  near, 
and  no  word  from  home  came  to  her,  and 
the  woman's  husband  returned,  tired,  sullen, 
and  dirty,  Belle's  fears  again  asserted  them- 
selves. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


M 


THE  HUNT. 

RS.  EMMET  had  gone  to  New  York 
on  an  errand  of  mercy,  —  to  help  the 
good  sister  of  one  of  the  charitable  socie- 
ties to  which  she  belonged,  in  gathering  to- 
gether the  waifs  and  strays  for  their  yearly 
breath  of  fresh  air.  In  accordance  with  her 
promise  to  Amy,  she  had  found  a  substitute 
for  the  active  work,  and  had  contented  her- 
self with  placing  funds  at  Sister  Mary's  dis- 
posal, in  order  that  she  might  return  to  Am}', 
and  complete  her  satisfaction  hy  making  the 
acquaintance  of  her  mother  and  aunt,  which 
she  was  the  more  desirous  of  doing  because 
of  her  future  plans  for  Amy.  She  had  be- 
come very  much  attached  to  the  child,  and 
felt  that  she  could  not  readily  part  with  her ; 

145 


146  CITY   COUSINS. 

but,  before  communicating  what  she  chose 
to  consider  her  selfish  wishes,  she  wanted  to 
assure  herself  concerning  Amy's  home  rela- 
tions, and  how  they  were  likely  to  be  affected 
by  a  prolonged  absence. 

She  had  therefore  denied  herself  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  the  happiness  of  the  poor  little 
creatures  who  were  to  be  refreshed  and 
strengthened  by  her  bounty,  and  was  making 
some  necessary  purchases,  when,  amid  the 
street-throng  of  even  this  warm  summer  day, 
she  espied  a  familiar  face. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Gaylord !  "  was  her  pleasant 
salutation,  "  do  the  pleasures  of  shopping 
outweigh  the  delights  of  the  sea-shore,  or 
have  you  exhausted  Burton  Beach?" 

Even  as  she  spoke,  she  noticed  a  change  in 
Miss  Gaylord,  —  so  great  a  one  that  she  in- 
voluntarily glanced  at  her  dress  to  see  if  she 
was  in  mourning,  and  instantly  added,  "  I 
beg  pardon.  You  are  agitated.  Something 
has  happened." 

"Oh!  have  you  not  heard?"  was  Miss 
Gajdord's  almost  reproachful  reply. 

"  No,  nothing.     But   come  with   me :   we 


THE   HUNT.  147 

must  find  a  quiet  corner,"  and,  with  the 
ready  sympathy  which  was  always  so  quick 
to  show  itself,  Mrs.  Emmet  drew  Miss  Gay- 
lord  towards  a  place  less  crowded  than  the 
one  they  were  in. 

"  Of  course  you  know  of  my  brother-in- 
law's  failure,"  said  Miss  Gaylord. 

"I  heard  something  of  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Emmet ;  "  but,  in  these  days  of  rapid  com- 
mercial changes,  I  thought  that  it  might 
be  but  a  temporary  embarrassment.  Your 
brother-in-law  has  always  borne  a  good 
name,  and  still  does  so  ;  surely  " — 

"  Oh,  thank  you ! "  said  Miss  Gaylord 
hastily :  "  no,  that  is  not  the  worst  trouble, 
though  that  is  bad  enough ;  but  it  is  the 
children.     Haven't  you  heard?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"Not  about  Belle's  being  lost?"  Then 
Miss  Gaylord  poured  out  the  story,  with 
bitter  self-reproach,  with  much  detail,  and 
with  a  hopeless  sort  of  sorrow. 

Mrs.  Emmet  listened  attentively,  heard 
all  that  had  been  done,  asked  for  a  repeti- 
tion  of  every   detail,  and   made   many   in- 


148  CITY   COUSINS. 

quiries,  then  suddenly  reverted  again  to  her 
companion's  appearance. 

"Where  are  you  going  now,  my  dear?" 
she  asked. 

"  To  the  telegraph  office.  I  thought  best 
to  use  every  effort  here,  before  sending  word 
to  my  sister.  I  may  have  been  wrong,  and 
Belle  may  be  suffering  by  the  delay ;  but  I 
could  not  bear  to  add  to  their  troubles  one 
moment  sooner  than  necessary  :  now  it  seems 
unavoidable." 

"  Come  with  me  first.  You  were  quite 
right,  very  thoughtful  and  considerate.  But 
let  me  help  you  now :  you  are  worn  and 
wearied."  She  thought  she  had  never  seen 
a  young  face  so  changed,  and  yet  not  wholly 
for  the  worse :  the  grief  and  anxiety  had 
made  traces,  but  there  was  a  sweeter  expres- 
sion in  its  gravity  than  in  its  gayety.  While 
she  spoke  she  hailed  a  cab,  and  urged  Miss 
Gaylord  to  enter.  Then  she  ordered  the 
man  to  her  own  home.  As  they  drove,  she 
again  listened  to  the  story,  saying,  "  Poor 
little  things !  —  little  babes  in  the  wood. 
They  really  were  in  earnest.     It  is  too  bad 


THE   HUNT.  149 

their  little  scheme  ended  so  sadly ;  and  to 
think  of  their  courage  and  determination ! 
But  we  must  not  despair:  a  girl  of  so  much 
spirit  as  Belle  has  shown  will  not  have  been 
utterly  cast  down.  Nothing  is  improbable 
in  a  great  city  like  this,  and  nothing  "  —  she 
paused,  overcome  by  sudden  dark  doubts 
and  fears.  What,  indeed,  might  not  be 
possible  ? 

They  had  now  reached  her  house,  —  one 
that  Miss  Gaylord  well  knew  for  its  external 
beauty.  The  great  door  opened  noiselessly, 
and  the  tiled  hall  was  dark  and  cool  and 
fragrant :  a  bowl  of  flowers  stood  on  the 
hall-table.  Portieres  of  Indian  matting  hung 
at  the  entrances  to  the  rooms,  which,  with 
their  hard- wood  floors  and  muslin  draperies, 
were  in  their  coolest  summer  dress. 

Mrs.  Emmet  led  the  way  to  her  morning- 
room  on  the  second  floor,  which  seemed  to 
combine  all  that  was  useful  and  beautiful. 
There  were  books  and  busts  ;  a  library  table, 
with  its  shaded  lamp,  and  olive-wood  ap- 
pointments for  writing ;  sketches  and  photo- 
graphs ;  souvenirs  of  travel ;    a  basket  with 


150  CITY   COUSINS. 

its  pieces  of  embroidery  ready  for  an  unoc- 
cupied moment;  wicker-work  easy-chairs, 
with  their  satin  ribbons  and  plush  cushions 
and  dainty  lace  covers ;  and,  again,  flowers 
in  quaint  bronze  cups  and  porcelain  bowls. 
No  sound  of  the  city's  din  came  to  this  quiet 
retreat ;  and  the  slippered  servant  made  no 
noise  as  he  brought  carafes  of  water,  and 
fruit,  and  a  silver  tankard  of  iced  lemonade. 

"  This  seems  like  an  earthly  paradise,  Mrs. 
Emmet,  after  all  the  dreadful  places  I  have 
been  to  lately,"  said  tired  Clara  Gaylord. 

"I  dare  say,  my  clear:  those  police-sta- 
tions are  terribly  depressing.  You  must 
take  a  good  long  rest :  lie  here  upon  the 
lounge  while  I  write  some  letters,  and  make 
some  preparations  to  stay  and  help  you  ;  " 
and  she  drew  off  Miss  Gaylord's  hat,  and 
began  to  wave  a  snowy  fan  of  ostrich  plumes 
before  the  girl's  tired,  heated  face. 

"  My  hat  feels  as  if  it  were  part  of  my 
head,  it  has  been  on  it  so  long.  But  you 
must  not  trouble  yourself  this  way,  Mrs. 
Emmet :  I  have  no  right  to  throw  this  bur- 
den upon  you." 


THE   HUNT.  151 

"But  I  have  the  right  to  assume  it,  my 
dear.  Not  only  is  it  a  right,  but  a  pleasure, 
a  duty." 

'"You  are  a  good  Samaritan  indeed.  And 
how  does  Am}*-  get  on,  Mrs.  Emmet  ?"  Is  she 
a  good  child  ?  " 

"  Very.  She  has  a  sweet  nature.  I  am 
very  fond  of  her.  I  must  write  to  her  now, 
to  explain  my  absence,  or" —  and  she 
stopped  a  moment  to  think,  "perhaps  I  had 
better  send  a  telegram.  I  have  been  away 
only  one  night,  but  I  promised  to  return 
to-day ;  and,  though  Jack  and  Di  are  used 
to  my  erratic  movements,  Amy  is  not,  and 
may  be  impatient  for  my  return."  So  say- 
ing, she  wrote  a  few  words,  touched  a  silver 
bell,  and  charged  the  servant  to  deliver  her 
message  immediately ;  then,  turning  to  Miss 
Gaylord,  she  said,  — 

"Now  tell  me  just  how  long  it  is  since 
you  had  that  despatch  from  Easton  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  three  days  ago,  it  may  be 
only  two  :  it  seems  an  age.  It  relieved  me 
so  much  that  for  a  whole  day  I  quite  ignored 
the  dreadful  fear  that  it  might  not  come  to 


152  CITY   COUSINS.     . 

any  thing ;  and,  when  it  was  proved  false,  I 
was  perfectly  stunned.  I  could  do  nothing. 
Everybody,  you  know,  is  out  of  town,  at 
least,  all  our  friends  are;  and  I  had  tired 
out  Dennis  O'Brien  and  Ann  and  nurse,  and 
poor  Vincent  could  only  sigh,  and  stand  at 
the  windows,  and  walk  wearily  around  the 
block.  And  the  little  girls  half  crazed  me 
with  their  dreary  little  questions,  and  I 
didn't  want  to  speak  to  anybody  who  might 
let  the  thing  get  into  the  papers ;  and  so, 
as  a  dernier  ressort,  I  was  going  to  send 
word  to  my  sister.  But,  O  Mrs.  Emmet,  if 
I  only  had  not  gone  away !  if  I  only  had  not 
been  persuaded  to  make  that  visit !  Perhaps 
if  I  had  staid  with  the  children,  this  would 
not  have  happened.'' 

Tears  were  streaming  down  Miss  Gay- 
lord's  face  as  she  looked  with  an  appealing 
glance  at  Mrs.  Emmet.  Her  remorse  was 
too  evident  for  her  friend  to  add  to  it,  though 
she  did  not,  indeed,  free  her  from  blame. 

"  My  dear,  all  events  are  in  the  control  of 
One  wiser  than  we.  If  you  have  erred,  you 
have  certainly  suffered  enough  for  it  in  my 


THE   HUNT.  158 

human  estimation,  and  need  reproach  your- 
self no  more ;  for  you  have  done  all  you  can 
now  to  retrieve  the  result  of  this  childish 
adventure.  The  one  task  before  us  now  is 
to  recover  Isabella,  and  we  must  set  our- 
selves bravely  to  do  it :  at  least,  2"  must,  for 
you  are  too  tired  just  now  to  command  the 
requisite  coolness  and  calmness.  And  proba- 
bly money  is  needed  :  the  police  move  quicker 
with  that  little  prod  behind  them." 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  checked  Miss 
Gaylord's  quick  demurrer  with  a  little  ca- 
ressing movement,  re-arranging  the  pillows 
of  the  lounge,  and  forcing  her  young  friend 
to  recline.  Then  she  darkened  the  room 
still  more,  and  softly  waved  the  fan  of  ostrich 
plumes  until  the  tired  eyelids  dropped,  and 
sleep,  the  sweet  restorer,  came  to  soothe 
and  still  the  anxious  thoughts. 

Opening  her  portfolio,  Mrs.  Emmet  drew 
out  her  paper,  and  sought  a  corner  where 
there  was  a  gleam  of  afternoon  sunshine. 
Here  she  wrote  and  wrote  until  two  hours 
had  passed,  when  the  servant  appeared  with 
a  letter.     As  she  took  it  from  the  salver,  she 


154  CITY   COUSINS. 

saw  its  character  with  the  little  flutter  that 
an  unexpected  telegram  alwa}7s  conveys. 
Tearing  it  quickly  open,  she  read  these 
words :  — 

Cousin  Belle  is  lost.  Please  (ell  Miss  Gaylord  I 
know  where  she  is. 

(Signed)  Amy. 

It  required  all  her  self-control  not  to  waken 
her  sleeping  friend,  and  reveal  this  joyful 
news ;  but  the  how,  when,  and  where  of 
Amy's  connection  with  this  affair  she  could 
not  master.  The  more  she  thought,  the  less 
able  was  she  to  solve  it,  unless  some  mes- 
sage had  been  sent  to  her  in  her  absence ; 
and  this  was  Amy's  way  of  putting  it.  She 
bit  her  lips  to  keep  them  closed  as  she 
watched  Miss  Gay  lord's  softly  heaving  chest, 
and  noted  her  deep  slumber.  At  last  there 
came  a  little  tremor  of  the  drooping  lids,  a 
little  sigh,  and  Miss  Gaylord,  with  a  start  of 
sudden  and  painful  consciousness,  awoke. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet,  taking  her 
hand  in  hers,  "  while  you  slept,  fairies  have 
been    at    work ;    and    see    what    they    have 


THE   HUNT.  155 

brought  us,"  and  she  held  up  the  yellow 
paper. 

Miss  Gaylord  seized  it  eagerly. 

"Do  you  believe  it?"  she  asked. 

"I  see  no  reason  to  doubt  it." 

"  But  why  does  she  not  say  where  we  can 
find  her?  O  Mrs.  Emmet!  no  time  must  be 
lost,  —  not  another  night." 

"Nor  shall  it  be,  if  I  can  help  it.  You 
forget  that  neither  Amy  nor  I  knew  any 
thing  of  this  till  to-day.  The  child  probably 
feels  assured  that  her  cousin  is  safe,  and  has 
sent  this  only  to  relieve  your  anxiety.  See, 
I  have  written  this  message ;  though  I  think 
I  had  better  take  the  evening  train,  and  leave 
the  answer  for  you  to  act  upon  :  and  yet  I  do 
not  like  to  leave  }"ou.  My  fear  is,  that  Amy 
may,  in  her  childish  zeal,  make  some  mis- 
take which  would  retard  Belle's  recovery." 

Miss  Gaylord  read  the  message,  which  was 
simply  a  demand  for  particulars,  and  returned 
it  to  Mrs.  Emmet,  saying,  — 

"Whatever  you  do  will  be  for  the  best." 

"  Then,  I  will  send  this,  wait  for  an  an- 
swer, and  take  a  later  train  if  necessary." 


156  CITY   COUSINS. 

The  despatch  was  sent,  and  dinner  ordered. 
A  note  also  was  written  to  Vincent,  ex- 
plaining Miss  Gaylord's  detention,  and  the 
hope  that  now  something  would  soon  be 
accomplished. 

While  the  ladies  were  dining,  the  return 
message  came.     It  ran  thus  :  — 

Try  591  Avenue  A,  fifth  floor,  rear. 

Amy. 
(Signed)  Jack. 

DlADEMMA. 

Mrs.  Emmet  laughed  as  she  pushed  aside 
the  luscious  fruits  before  her. 

"Amy  believes  in  the  words  of  the  Psalm- 
ist, 'In  the  multitude  of  counsellors  is  wis- 
dom.' But  we  haven't  even  so  much  as  one 
name  to  guide  us  in  our  inquiries:  however, 
the  carriage  is  at  the  door ;  now  for  Avenue 
A  before  dark.  Thomas  had  better  follow 
with  a  policeman ; "  and,  giving  further  ex- 
plicit directions  to  her  man-servant,  Mrs. 
Emmet  and  Miss  Gaylord  departed. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE   SECRET    TOLD. 

"FT  was  no  wonder  that  Mrs.  Emmet  could 
-"-  not  understand  how  Amy  had  received 
intelligence  of  Belle's  misfortune.  It  had 
come  in  a  way  she  did  not  imagine. 

Seated  on  a  moss-covered  rock  in  the 
woods,  the  soft  breeze  sighing  in  the  tree- 
tops,  and  the  darkness  of  evening  making  a 
mystery  of  every  leafy  nook,  Amy  felt  a 
little  thrill  of  feeling  at  the  interview  with 
the  gypsy,  which  was  partly  due  to  the  time, 
and  partly  to  her  strange  companion,  who, 
with  her  shawl  over  her  head,  and  her  head 
poised  as  if  listening,  and  her  dark  eyes  bent 
on  Amy,  said,  — 

"  As  soon  as  I  heard  }rour  name  was  Tiav- 
ers,  —  and  I  heard  it  when  we  '  picked  up ' 

157 


158  city  cousins. 

your  lamb,  as  well  as  lots  of  other  news  about 
the  people  in  the  hotel,  —  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  tell  you  something  I  knew  about  a  girl  of 
the  same  name  as  yours,  Belle  Travers." 

"  Why,  that's  my  cousin,"  said  Amy,  turn- 
ing around  suddenly. 

"  Is  she  ?  Well,  I  thought  she  might  be, 
but  I  didn't  know ;  and  I  didn't  care  much, 
for  I  onty  wanted  to  spite  ole  marra,''  said 
the  girl  in  a  way  that  was  quite  shocking  to 
Amy,  who  gave  a  soft,  little  reproachful  ex- 
pression, which  the  girl  laughed  at,  saj-ing, — 

"  Oil !  you  don't  know  ole  marm ;  but  I 
guess  Belle  Travers  does,  and  wishes  she 
never  had  seen  her." 

"But  how  could  she  see  her  down  at 
Burton  Beach?"  asked  the  astonished  Amy. 

"  She  could  have,  just  as  easy  as  nothing; 
for  ole  marm  goes  everywhere.  But  she 
didn't:  she  saw  her  in  New  York." 

"  Really  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  almost  holding  her 
breath  to  listen,  and  starting  at  the  quiver 
of  some  rustling  leaves.  "  Oh,  wouldn't  she 
kill  me  if  she  knew  I  was  telling  you  this  !  " 


THE   SECRET   TOLD.  159 

"No,  she  wouldn't,"  said  Amy  boldly:  "I 
wouldn't  let  her." 

The  gypsy  girl  laughed  scornfully  again. 

"You  don't  begin  to  know  her  wickedness, 
nor  the  way  she  can  torment.  She's  the 
wickedest,  awfulest,  —  oh  !  there's  no  use  in 
tryin'  to  say  how  wicked  she  is.  But  any- 
way, Belle  Travers  got  lost  in  the  street  a 
few  days  ago,  and  ole  marm  took  her  to  a 
place  where  she  boards  sometimes,  and  is 
keeping  her  there,  in  hopes  there'll  be  a  re- 
ward offered.  And  nobody  else  knows  where 
she  is,  —  no  one  who  cares  about  her,  I 
mean." 

The  girl  told  this  in  a  hurried  whisper 
that  made  Amy's  blood  run  cold.  She 
thought  it  could  not  be  possible,  certainly 
was  not  true  ;  but  none  the  less  did  it  make 
her  tremble. 

"  How  —  how  do  you  know  all  this  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"They  thought  I  was  asleep  one  night 
when  they  were  talking  about  it,  but  I  heard 
every  word  :  I'm  a  light  sleeper.  I  like  to 
look  up  at  the  stars,  and  try  to  count  'em : 


160  CITY   COUSINS. 

that  makes  me  dizzy ;  but  the  man's  face  in 
the *moon  makes  me  laugh,  and  wish  I  could 
jump  up  there,  and  —  why,  what  was  that?" 

The  girl  cowered  with  sudden  fear,  and 
Amy  was  tempted  to  fly ;  but  remembering, 
that,  if  the  girl's  story  was  true,  it  would  be 
necessary  for  her  to  know  more,  she  con- 
quered herself,  and  pulled  the  girl  into  a 
darker  spot. 

"  Come  here,"  she  said.  "  Tell  me  over 
again,  —  tell  me  every  thing.  I  can't  believe 
it,  it  is  so  dreadful;  and  what  can  I  do? 
Oh,  poor  Belle !  How  did  it  all  happen  ? 
Are  you  sure  it  is  true  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  said  the  gypsy  girl  sullenly. 
"Do  you  suppose  I'd  tell  if  it  wasn't?  If 
they  find  out  that  I  have  told,  I'll  have  to 
leave,  —  I  may  have  to  anyhow.  Oh,  I'm  so 
tired  of  being  wicked  !  " 

"  You  poor  thing  !  You  sha'n't  be  wicked 
any  more.  Mrs.  Emmet  will  help  you  to  be 
good,  I  know  she  will.  Oh,  if  she  were  only 
here  to  tell  us  what  to  do !  " 

Again  the  girl  cowered  with  fear,  and 
again  the  bushes  quivered  and  rustled ;  and 


THE   SECEET   TOLD.  161 

this  time  it  was  not  the  evening  breeze  which 
parted  the  leaves,  but  a  dusky  form  that 
made  the  gypsy  girl  utter  a  dismal  cry,  and 
plunge  forward,  only  to  be  caught  and  de- 
tained within  the  grasp  of  a  pair  of  strong, 
stout  arms. 

With  joyful  recognition  Amy  saw  that  the 
person  was  Di,  —  good,  faithful  Di,  who  had 
followed  her  every  footstep,  and  heard  the 
whole  of  the  g}rpsy  girl's  sad  story. 

A  load  was  lifted  from  Amy's  heart  the 
moment  she  saw  her. 

"O  Di ! "  she  cried,  "  are  you  here  ?  I  am 
so  glad." 

"Are  ye  den,  honey?  I'd  no  idee  o'  dat: 
1'se  tough t  yo'  was  mighty  anxious  to  be  all 
alone,  —  but  I  couldn't  'low  no  such  caryin's 
on  wid  dese  yer  gypsies.  —  I  say,  yo',"  turn- 
ing to  the  struggling  girl,  whose  vain  at- 
tempts to  release  herself  had  been  almost 
frantic,  "  whatebber  yo'  do,  doan't  holler : 
it  ud  bring  more  people  here  dan  yo'  want. 
Jack's  jist  a  little  way  off  yander,  an'  I 
want  ter  know  more  about  dis  yer  stuff.  Ef 
it's  true,  we'd  oughter  let  Mrs.  Emmet  know 


162  CITY   COUSINS. 

all  about  it ;  ef  it  ain't  true,  yo's  goin'  to  be 
punished,  dat's  all." 

The  girl  now  ceased  struggling,  and  stood 
with  head  hanging,  her  whole  attitude  one 
of  dejection. 

"  Di,"  said  Amy  breathlessly,  "  it  is  true,  — 
I'm  sure  it  is ;  and  you  must  tell  us  what  to 
do." 

"  How  can  I,  chile  ?  I'm  puzzled  myself 
nuff  to  know  what  to  do  wid  dis  yer  gal : 
she's  got  in  a  bad  fix.  —  Say,"  turning  to  the 
girl  again,  "  didn't  yo'  know  all  yo'  waggins 
wus  on  de  road  ag'in,  an'  yo'  people  movin'  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't ;  but  I'm  glad,  for  I  am 
afraid  to  look  ole  marm  in  the  face  again." 

Di  looked  compassionately  at  her,  then  she 
said, — 

"I'll  hab  to  speak  to  Jack.  But  whar's 
de  place  dat  dey  hab  got  Miss  Belle  hidin'  ? 
We'se  no  better  off  now  dan  ef  we  didn't 
know  niiffin'." 

The    girl  let  her  shawl  drop,  fumbled  in. 
her  pocket,   and  drew  out   a   slip   of  dirty 
paper  with  an  address  on  it.     "I  can't  read 
it,"  she  said ;  "  but  when  we're  in  the  city  I 


THE   SECRET   TOLD.  163 

sometimes  don't  know  where  to  find  ole 
marm,  and  so  she  gave  me  this.  I  just  show 
it  to  anybody,  and  they  tell  me  where  to  go. 
It's  a  house  where  some  of  our  people  stay 
in  the  winter  time.  Some  of  them  are  nicer 
than  others ;  and  I  think  the  Travers  girl  is 
perhaps  with  Mrs.  Smith,  a  deaf  and  dumb 
woman,  whose  husband  is  a  bricklayer.  Ole 
marm  laughed  as  she  said  'no  one  could  get 
any  thing  out  of  her  if  they  tried  forever.' 
But  she  didn't  know  I  heard  every  word  she 
spoke.  It  was  an  awful  warm  night,  an'  the 
skeeters  wouldn't  let  me  sleep  if  I  had 
wanted  to;  and  ole  marm  had  been  so  ugly 
to  me  that  day  I  was  bound  to  pay  her  off, 
and  I  hope  I've  done  it." 

"  Yo'  mus'n't  be  revengeful,"  said  Di : 
"  dat's  bein'  as  wicked  as  ole  marm ;  no 
good  comes  o'  dat,  —  onless,"  —  and  here  she 
paused  as  if  perplexed,  but  speedily  began 
again,  —  "  onless  de  Lord  oberrules  de  wick- 
edness to  make  it  turn  about  so  dat  sinners 
see  how  bad  dey  are.  Well,  I'se  mighty 
puzzled,  I  'low,  an'  I  must  jist  talk  to  Jack." 

So  saying,  she  turned  down  the  path,  keep- 


164  CITY   COUSINS. 

ing  a  firm  hold  of  the  gypsy,  and  letting 
Amy  follow. 

The  moon  was  now  shining  brightly ;  and, 
when  they  came  to  where  Jack  was  stand- 
ing-, they  could  catch,  through  a  rift  in  the 
forest,  a  glimpse  of  the  road,  where,  with 
much  clatter  and  jargon  of  voices,  the  gypsies 
were  beginning  their  march. 

"  Won't  they  miss  you?  Won't  they  won- 
der where  you  are  ?  "  whispered  Amy. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  the  girl.  "But  I've 
often  been  missing  before :  they  don't  really 
care  where  I  am.  They  think  I  only  want 
to  bother  them,  and  that  I'll  show  m}*self 
before  long." 

"Oh,  you  poor  thing!  "  said  Amy.  "You 
shall  never  go  back,  never :  you  shall  come 
home  with  me,  and  be  good  and  useful,  and 
have  nice  clothes,  and  learn  to  read." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl  wistfully, 
and  gazing  after  the  retreating  wagons  :  "  if 
it  wasn't  for  ole  marm  and  the  rainy  spells 
and  the  cold  weather,  I'd  like  it.  I  do  like 
it,  you  know,  all  but  the  lickin's, — they're 
dreadful ;  and  now  it  would  be  worse  than 
ever.     I  daren't  go  back." 


THE   SECRET   TOLD.  165 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Amy  :  "  I  couldn't  bear 
to  think  of  your  being-  with  them  again." 

"  Couldn't  you  ?  "  said  the  girl,  with  an 
astonished  look. 

"  Of  course  not,  after  being  so  good  as  to 
tell  us  this  about  Belle." 

"  It  wasn't  goodness  that  made  me,"  said 
the  girl,  with  calm  justice.  "  But  it's  kinder 
nice  to  have  you  care." 

"I  do  care  ever  so  much,  —  more  than  I  can 
tell  you.  I  want  to  do  something  for  you ; 
and  I  mean  to,  if  you'll  let  me.  You  poor, 
deserted  thing  —  there!"  and,  with  a  little 
sob,  she  caught  up  the  girl's  thin,  brown 
hand,  and  kissed  it.  If  any  one  had  told  her 
to  do  this,  she  could  not  have  thought  it 
possible;  but  the  warm  impulse  of  her  young 
heart  was  to  befriend  the  poor  creature,  and 
this  was  the  almost  unconscious  way  she 
showed  it. 

The  girl  looked  at  her  hand  as  one  might 
who  has  had  a  beautiful  gem  placed  on  a 
finger. 

"  That  settles  it,"  she  said :  "  if  you  can 
care  for  me,  I'll    try  to  be  good.     No:  I'll 


166  CITY   COUSINS. 

never  go  back  now  ;  "  and  she  turned  her  gaze 
from  the  road  as  if  she  had  turned  also  from 
the  past. 

"  Here's  Jack,"  said  Di ;  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes the  whole  story  had  been  retold,  with 
many  surprising  embellishments  of  gesture 
and  exclamation.  Jack's  decision  was  soon 
given.  Mrs.  Emmet  was  to  return  on  the 
morrow.  They  must  wait  for  her  guidance  ; 
meanwhile,  the  girl  should  be  cared  for, 
which  could  be  easily  done  in  the  servants' 
quarters  at  the  hotel. 

When  the  morrow  came,  and  brought  Mrs. 
Emmet's  message,  Amy  had  already  sent  the 
news  about  Belle,  following  it  up  with  the 
address  given  by  the  gypsy.  As  she  had 
held  many  consultations  with  Di  and  Jack, 
and  had  been  guided  by  their  advice,  she 
had  signed  their  names  with  her  own,  that 
Mrs.  Emmet  might  know  that  their  judg- 
ment had  assisted  her ;  for,  though  they 
made  no  pretence  of  superior  knowledge, 
both  the  colored  people  were  old  and  trusted 
friends  as  well  as  servants  of  Mrs.  Emmet. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 


FOUND. 


f  I  ^HE  sorrows  of  children  are  thought  of 
-*-    lightly.     Few  appreciate   the   depth  of 
feeling  in  a  young  heart,  and  think  — 

"  The  tear  down  childhood's  cheek  that  flows, 
Is  like  the  dew-drop  on  the  rose, — 
When  next  the  summer  wind  comes  by, 
And  waves  the  bush,  the  flower  is  dry." 

That  may  be  true  of  the  infant,  but  not 
of  a  child  ten  or  twelve  years  of  age,  whose 
reason  and  judgment  are  not  ripe  enough  to 
come  to  the  rescue  of  the  feelings  which  are, 
perhaps,  the  more  poignant  because  of  their 
freshness. 

What  Belle  Travers  endured  when  the 
weary  hours  went  by,  and  no  word  came 
from  home,  and  her  own  helplessness  became 

167 


168  CITY   COUSINS. 

more  apparent  to  her,  would  be  too  painful 
to  describe.  She  gave  way  to  her  grief  in 
a  manner  that  alarmed  the  poor  deaf  and 
dumb  woman.  She  felt  herself  abandoned, 
forsaken,  forgotten.  She  imagined  that  her 
brother  Vincent  might  have  been  killed,  and 
that  her  parents'  grief  was  too  great  to  even 
remember  her.  All  sorts  of  wild  conjectures 
made  her  poor  little  head  and  heart  ache ; 
and  there  was  no  "  Silent  Comforter  "  on  the 
bare,  whitewashed  walls  of  the  small  room 
she  was  in,  to  speak  peace  to  her  soul.  But 
the  baby,  with  his  staring  blue  eyes  and 
chubb}r  cheeks,  did  what  he  could :  he  crept 
up  to  her,  and  cooed  and  gurgled  in  notes 
as  soft  as  those  of  the  wood-dove,  putting 
his  little  hands  on  her  tear-stained  cheeks, 
and  his  bare  feet  wherever  lie  could  find 
room  for  them.  He  was  a  pretty  baby,  and 
had  learned  the  lesson  ot  patience,  which  the 
children  of  the  poor  acquire  so  earl}*.  He 
was  used  to  being  left  to  himself,  and  finding 
pleasure  in  any  object  which  happened  to  be 
near,  whether  it  was  a  wooden  spoon  and  tin 
pail,  or  the  flies  which  crawled  over  his  bald 


FOUND.  169 

head,  and  tickled  him.  Because  it  fright- 
ened him,  and  made  his  blue  eyes  fill  with 
tears,  Belle  quieted  her  sobs  ;  and  because  it 
pleased  him,  she  strove  to  smile :  and  the 
effort  made  her  forget  herself.  She  con- 
quered her  aversion  to  speak  to  the  cross, 
tired  husband  of  the  poor  sewing- woman, 
and  asked  him  why  she  was  not  taken  home ; 
but  he  had  answered  so  gruffly  and  mysteri- 
ously that  she  did  not  dare  go  farther,  es- 
pecialty  as  he  vented  his  annoyance  on  his 
wife,  and  made  her  cry. 

Belle  was  as  lost  to  all  sense  of  time  as 
a  shipwrecked  mariner.  She  knew  the  hot 
sun  had  risen  and  set  a  number  of  times : 
that  indicated  days,  but  seemed  years.  She 
knew  that  she  had  swallowed,  or  tried  to 
swallow,  the  food-  put  before  her,  and  was 
better  able  to  drag  herself  from  the  bed. 
But  she  did  not  dare  yet  attempt  an  escape, 
though  this  was  now  her  constant  thought ; 
and  for  the  fiftieth  time  she  had  leaned  far 
out  of  the  window  to  count  the  many  stories 
beneath,  and  guess  the  distance  from  the 
street.     She  was  doing  this  now,  —  as  well 


170  CITY  COUSINS. 

as  she  could  for  the  fluttering  garments,  on 
the  lines  suspended  from  one  of  those  great 
mast-like  poles  which  carry  the  cordage  and 
sails  of  those  freighted  hulks  we  call  tene- 
ments,—  when  she  noticed  a  commotion  in 
the  court  below.  A  stringed  band  had  been 
playing  a  lively  tune,  and  dozens  of  heads 
were  thrust,  listening,  from  the  windows; 
but  the  band  had  stopped,  and  the  circle  of 
dancing  children  had  ceased,  to  gaze  open- 
mouthed  at  a  group  of  people  of  very  differ- 
ent appearance  from  the  inhabitants  of  the 
place.  One  was  an  elderly  woman  of  digni- 
fied aspect,  the  others  a  younger  lady,  and  a 
man  in  livery,  followed  by  two  policemen, 
Isabelle's  look  of  indifference  changed  to  one 
of  astonishment,  and  then  to  quick  recogni- 
tion. With  one  piercing  cry,  she  screamed, 
"  Aunt  Clara,  here  I  am !  "  and  then  turned, 
to  find  herself  forced  by  no  gentle  hand  into 
a  closet.  It  was  the  dumb  woman's  hus- 
band, who  had  just  come  in  ;  and,  with  a 
terrible  sinking  of  the  heart,  Isabelle  heard 
him  wondering  with  an  oath  where  the  key 
was.     But  before  her  fears  could  shape  tbeni- 


FOUND.  171 

selves,  before  the  mute  creature  could  re- 
spond to  her  angry  husband's  demand,  made 
known  by  some  fierce  gesture,  the  room  was 
entered  by  the  party  from  below,  and  Isa- 
belle  heard  her  aunt  Clara  say,  "  This  must 
be  the  room,  Mrs.  Emmet."  A  short  alter- 
cation followed.  The  man  had  placed  him- 
self against  the  closet-door,  and  Belle  could 
not  budge  it.  She  strove  with  all  her  might. 
She  strove,  too,  to  scream ;  but  her  voice 
would  not  rise.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were 
suffocating ;  when,  with  an  authoritative, 
"  Stand  aside  there  !  "  .  the  door  was  flung 
open,  and  she  fell  forward. 

It  was  a  moment  of  confusion  and  disor- 
der. Belle  could  not  stand  without  pain,  and 
her  aunt  Clara  had  taken  her  in  her  arms. 
The  policemen  were  debating  whom  to  put 
under  arrest,  as  the  man  asserted  that  he  was 
ignorant  of  the  means  used  to  detain  Belle, 
and  had  only  received  her  as  a  lodger  ;  though 
the  forcing  her  in  a  closet  was  so  much  against 
him.  The  dumb  woman  was  weeping,  and, 
with  the  child  in  her  arms,  made  vehement 
though    silent    protestations,   and     implored 


172  CITY   COUSINS. 

mercy  for  her  husband.  Mrs.  Emmet  seemed 
to  weigh  the  situation  judicially,  then  said 
to  Belle,  — 

"  Tell  us  exactly  what  has  happened,  and 
then  we  shall  know  how  to  act." 

Belle's  excitement  made  her  voice  tremu- 
lous;  but  she  managed  to  make  out  a  clear 
story,  leaning  on  her  aunt  Clara,  and  hold- 
ing both  her  hands  as  if  there  were  some 
possibility  of   losing    her. 

"  I  was  brought  here,"  she  said,  after  re- 
hearsing all  her  previous  doings,  "by  an  old- 
looking  woman  with  purplish  cheeks  and 
black  eyes.  I  thought  I  heard  her  called 
'  Marm  '  something,  but  I  am  not  sure  what." 
Mrs.  Emmet  nodded  to  the  policemen  as  if  a 
sudden  clew  had  come  to  the  mystery ;  then, 
turning  to  Clara,  she  said,  — 

"I  begin  to  see  how  Amy  is  connected 
with  this.  She  must  have  heard  something 
through  the  gypsies  who  stole  her  lamb. 
They  have  an  old  woman  among  them  whom 
they  call  '  Marm  Blake.'  I  have  not  told 
you  about  our  visit  to  their  camp,  and  now 
I   recall    something    else.     While   we   were 


FOUND.  173 

there,  the  strange  actions  of  a  girl  attracted 
Amy  very  much.  We  spoke  of  it  at  the 
time.  It  must  have  been  through  her  that 
she  has  gained  this  information." 

"  Do  you  know  this  gypsy  woman  ?  "  asked 
one  of  the  policemen  of  the  man  whom  he 
had  under  arrest. 

"  Will  you  let  me  off  if  I  tell,"  responded 
the  man. 

"  That's  as  the  judge  orders.  You'd  bet- 
ter do  what  you  can  to  save  yourself." 

"  Well,  I  do  know  her,  and  she  brought 
the  gal  here.  My  wife  can't  ax  any  ques- 
tions if  she  wanted  to,  and  she  took  the  gal 
to  board.     I've  had  nuthin'  to  do  with  it." 

"  All  right.  Just  you  come  along  with  us ; 
and,  if  you're  not  to  blame,  you'll  not  stay 
long." 

With  this,  there  was  a  general  movement 
towards  the  door. 

Belle  begged  her  aunt  to  give  the  poor 
deaf-and-dumb  woman  some  money,  kissed 
the  baby,  and  went  with  her  friends  to 
where  the  carriage  was  waiting. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  to  enter  into  the 


174  CITY   C0USIN9. 

details  of  the  judicial  examination  and  its 
result.  It  is  enough  that  the  woman,  '  Marm 
Blake,'  who  was  as  well  known  in  the  city 
as  in  the  country,  was  found,  prosecuted,  and 
punished. 

It  is  pleasanter  to  turn  to  the  jojrful  meet- 
ing of  Vincent  and  Isabella,  the  delight  of 
Tillie  and  Clara,  the  warm  congratulations 
of  Ann  and  nurse  and  Dennis  O'Brien,  the 
long  letters  and  short  despatches  sent  by 
Mrs.  Emmet  and  Clara  Gaylord  that  even- 
ing, and  the  ice-cream  and  cake  and  flowers 
which  Mrs.  Emmet  summoned,  as  if  by 
magic,  from  the  nearest  confectioner. 

Belle's  chair  was  a  throne,  and  all  the 
others  her  willing  subjects.  Again  and  again 
was  her  story  told,  with  many  interruptions, 
many  expressions  of  pity,  and  ejaculations  of 
surprise.  The  women  wept  when  she  told 
of  the  deaf-and-dumb  woman  sewing,  sewing, 
all  the  long,  hot  days ;  and  Clara  and  Tillie 
longed  for  the  baby  to  play  with.  Then  the 
lame  ankle  had  to  be  bathed,  and  swathed  in 
cool,  soft  linen ;  and  the  climax  of  happiness 
was   reached  when    Mrs.  Emmet   hinted   at 


FOUND.  175 

some  great  pleasure  in  which  they  all  were 
to  share.  Something  so  utterly  enchanting 
that  it  could  not  even  be  spoken  of  until 
everybody  had  slept,  and  rested  for  several 
days,  and  letters  could  go  and  come  from 
Chicago. 

What  could  it  be?  And  why  did  aunt 
Clara  and  Mrs.  Emmet  say  so  much  about 
Amy? 

And  then  they  began  to  understand  that 
it  was  through  Amy,  their  little  country 
cousin,  that  Belle  had  been  recovered. 

"  Through  Amy,  way  off  in  Delaware  or 
Pennsylvania,  or  somewhere  that  you  have 
never  been ! "  said  Tillie  to  Vincent ;  and 
Vincent  had  looked  at  Belle,  and  said,  — 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Belle  ? " 
and  Belle  had  replied,  in  a  very  weary 
voice,  — 

"I  hope  she  has  forgiven  me." 


CHAPTER   XX. 


AMY'S  HOME. 


UNDER  an  elm-tree  which  shaded  one 
corner  of  a  large,  old-fashioned  garden, 
sweet  with  the  breath  of  pinks  and  gera- 
niums, and  bright  with  roses,  larkspur,  cocks- 
combs, and  hollyhocks  which  bordered  the 
straight  alleys  leading  to  this  corner,  was  a 
rustic  bench  and  table.  On  the  bench  were 
seated  two  ladies  knitting  ;  beside  them  was 
a  collie,  —  a  brown-and- white  sheep-dog  ;  find 
coming  down  the  garden-path  towards  them, 
with  his  hands  behind  him,  was  a  man  of 
about  fifty  years,  whose  bright  eyes,  pleasant 
smile,  and  ruddy  color  might  have  enabled 
him  to  pass  for  a  boy,  had  not  his  figure,  and 
hair  just  tinged  with  gray,  contradicted  such 
a  supposition.     As  he  approached  the  ladies, 

176 


amy's  home.  177 

the  younger  one  rose,  as  did  also  the  collie, 
stretching  itself  lazily,  but  wagging  its  tail 
vigorously.  The  older  lady  looked  up  from 
her  knitting  to  say  cheerily, — 

"  Well,  what  news  from  Amy  ?  "  and  the 
younger  one  put  out  her  hand  for  the  letters 
which  she  suspected  were  hidden  behind 
that  ample  figure. 

There  was  certainly  an  air  of  expectation 
on  all  these  kindly,  pleasant  faces.  Looking 
up  the  garden-path  to  the  low,  broad  piazza 
of  the  house,  overhung  with  clematis  and 
wisteria,  one  might  also  fancy  the  house 
itself  in  a  state  of  expectancy.  The  win- 
dows wore  a  smiling  brightness ;  and,  peer- 
ing within,  might  have  been  seen  fresh 
flowers  in  the  jugs  and  vases,  neatness  and 
order  in  all  the  simple  rooms,  and  a  table 
set  with  snowy  linen,  clearest  glass,  and 
quaint  china. 

"  What  news  ?  "  echoed  the  lower-toned 
voice.  "News,  indeed!  Queer  news, — 
news  of  all  sorts  and  sizes ;  but  I  don't 
think  I  had  better  let  you  know  any  of  it. 
What  will  you  have  left  to  talk  about  when 


178  CITY   COUSINS. 

Amy  comes?  Now,  Kitty,  be  still,"  this  to 
the  young  lady,  who  was  peeping  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  package  of  papers  and  letters, 
and  striving  to  pluck  them  from  his  grasp. 

"  Thomas,  }~ou  are  tantalizing,"  said  the 
wife.  "  Tell  us  how  soon  Amy  will  be  here, 
and  let  me  read  those  letters  for  myself. 
That  dear  Mrs.  Emmet  must  be  as  lovely  as 
every  one  says.  I  thought  Amy  might  have 
exaggerated  a  little;  but  Vincent's  wife  writes 
me  that  her  sister,  Clara  Gaylord,  thinks 
there  is  no  one  quite  so  kind.  She  has  been 
an  angel  of  mercy  to  those  poor,  dear  chil- 
dren in  the  city.  But  I  am  afraid  our  simple 
ways  may  not  suit  her." 

"Don't  you  believe  that,  Martha,"  said 
her  sister.  "  Our  Amy  would  never  have 
been  so  happy  with  her  if  she  were  one  who 
fumes  and  fusses,  and  cannot  live  without 
grandeur.  I  am  sure  she  will  be  just  as 
much  at  home  with  us  as  if  she  were  one  of 
us ;  and  already  I  am  prepared  to  hear  her 
admire  our  dear  old  house,  the  garden,  the' 
lake,  and  every  nook  that  we  love." 

"  Are   you  ? "    said    Mrs.    Travers,   just   a 


amy's  home.  179 

little  anxiously.  "  Well,  it  is  the  better 
way ;  but  I  am  so  unused  to  strangers." 

"  You  must  not  call  her  a  stranger,  after 
all  her  kindness  to  our  Amy,"  protested  Mr. 
Travers.  "  And  now  read  this  long,  long 
letter  that  Amy  has  toiled  over,  and  see  if 
my  promise  of  news  is  not  verified.  There," 
and  he  placed  his  package  on  the  table,  sat 
down,  and  watched,  with  smiling  counte- 
nance, the  expressions  of  surprise,  interest, 
and  absorbed  attention  which  the  ladies  gave 
to  Amy's  letter. 

"  This  is  a  romance,  to  be  sure,"  said  Kitty 
gleefully,  as  she  finished. 

"  Thomas,  I  told  you  we  should  have  sent 
for,  or  gone  for,  your  brother  Vincent's  chil- 
dren as  soon  as  we  heard  of  his  misfortune," 
said  Mrs.  Travers  reproachfully.  "  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself:  we  might  have  saved 
them  all  this  anxiety ;  "  and  she  wiped  her 
eyes,  and  looked  so  sorrowfully  at  her  hus- 
band that  even  a  little  moisture  twinkled  on 
his  eyelids ;  but  he  coughed  a  little  impatient 
cough,  and  said  quickly,  "  Martha,  you  know 
I  was  haying,  and  could  not  leave,  and  that 


180  CITY   COUSINS. 

I  thought  the  children  were  in  Clara  Gay- 
lord's  care,  until  Amy  wrote  to  the  contrary  : 
and  you  know,  too,  that  my  brother  Vin- 
cent is  used  to  managing  his  own  affairs 
without  help  from  me  ;  but  he's  got  to 
have  it  now,  whether  he  wants  it  or  not.  I 
stopped  at  Johnson's  to  see  about  the  cot- 
tage, and  when  Mrs.  Emmet  comes  "  —  He 
was  stopped  by  a  series  of  quick  little  barks 
from  the  collie,  as  wagon-wheels  were  heard 
crunching  on  the  gravel ;  and  Amy's  voice 
called  out,  —     , 

"  Mother,  father,  aunt  Kitty  !  Oh,  how 
lovely  you  all  look !  "  and  out  bounced  Amy 
from  the  carriage,  jumping  into  her  mother's 
arms,  and  followed  by  Mrs.  Emmet  in  more 
leisurely  fashion. 

"  Down,  Prince  !  down,  sir  !  "  she  cried, 
for  the  dog  was  leaping  to  lick  her  face. 
"Oh,  dear!"  she  added,  "I  have  got  to  intro- 
duce everybody." 

"  No,  you  haven't,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet 
cordially.  And  "  No,  indeed,"  came  simul- 
taneously from  all,  as  each  pressed  forward 
to  offer  courtesies.  But  Amy  tried  to  do  her 
best. 


amy's  home.  181 

"  This  is  my  mother,  and  this  aunt  Kitty," 
she  said. 

"  And  who  is  this  ?  "  asked  her  father,  as 
another  girl,  taller  than  Amy,  appeared,  —  a 
tail,  thin,  dark-eyed,  and  sad-faced  girl  in  a 
neat  suit  of  brown,  with  a  straw  hat  to  match. 

"  This  is  Hagar,"  she  said,  adding  in  a 
whisper,  "  my  gypsy  friend." 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Hagar,"  said  Mr. 
Travers  in  his  merry,  kindly  way,  pushing 
the  suspicious  dog  aside,  and  taking  the  girl 
by  the  hand. 

"  We  knew  you  would  be,  Mr.  Travers," 
said  Mrs.  Emmet;  "and,  as  I  have  had  to 
send  Di  and  Jack  to  the  city  (and  of  course 
you  know  who  they  are),  I  am  going  to  make 
use  of  Hagar  as  my  little  maid  for  the  pres- 
ent. May  Amy  take  her  to  the  kitchen, 
Mrs.  Travers,  where  she  will  do  what  she 
can  to  help  those  who  are  there  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  still  rather 
anxious  Mrs.  Travers,  leading  the  way. 
"  Come,  Hagar,  Jane  will  make  3*011  com- 
fortable, and  you  will  soon  learn  our  ways." 

"  Now  you  must  all  come  in,"  said  Amy, 


182  CITY   COUSINS. 

skipping  between  her  father  and  Mrs.  Em- 
met, with  a  hand  in  each  of  theirs. 

"I  want  to  show  Mrs.  Emmet  my  dear  old 
home.  Aunt  Kitty,  lead  the  way,  please. 
Oh!  I  must  have  a  smell  of  those  darling 
tea-roses;  and  look  at  those  pansies,  —  aren't 
they  glorious,  with  their  great  big  violet 
hats?  And  there  are  some  clove  pinks 
dressed  up  for  company,  —  and  oh !  hear  that 
dear  little  wren.  See,  Mrs.  Emmet,  hasn't 
he  a  cunning  little  house  up  in  the  cherry- 
tree  ?     Is  it  not  nice  to  be  home  ?  " 

Amy's  eyes  sparkled,  and  she  chattered 
like  a  little  chipmunk.  They  all  looked  lov- 
ingly at  her,  thinking  how  well  she  looked, 
and  listened  as  if  to  the  sweetest  music. 
And  what  music  is  sweeter  than  the  happy, 
cheerful  voice  of  a  dear  child'/ 

Hand  in  hand  she  led  her  friend  to  the 
guest-chamber,  throwing  open  the  blinds  to 
let  in  the  golden  afternoon  sunshine,  and 
greeting  every  familiar  article  of  furniture 
as  if  it  had  been  a  living  being. 

'•Look,  Mrs.  Emmet,  you  can  see  the  lake 
from  here,  and  Mount  lieulah  sloping  down 


amy's  home.  183 

to  it,"  she  said,  as  she  stood  at  the  window, 
"  and  the  church  with  its  '  God's  Acre.' 
Mother  taught  me  to  call  it  that:  her  mother 
sleeps  there,  and  so  do  my  little  brothers. 
And  there  is  our  apple -orchard.  You 
should  see  it  in  May :  it's  as  white  as  snow, 
and,  oh,  so  sweet !  And  there  in  the  meadow 
is  Daisy,  —  oh,  I  do  believe  that's  her  new 
calf  I  have  never  seen  !  the  dear,  darling 
little  thing !  Now,  while  you  are  resting,  I 
must  run  over,  and  make  its  acquaintance, 
and  tell  John  where  to  put  lammie,  —  poor 
little  forgotten  lammie.  And,  Mrs.  Emmet, 
may  I  take  Hagar  with  me  if  she's  not  too 
tired  ?  for  I  think  she  is  tired,  and  a  little 
homesick." 

Mrs.  Emmet  gave  her  consent,  and  turned 
to  speak  to  aunt  Kitty  as  Amy  flew  off  like 
a  little  bird. 

"Amy's  perceptions  are  very  quick  and 
true.  Hagar  is  homesick,  strange  as  it  may 
appear;  but  I  think  Amy  will  teach  her  that 
there  is  a  better  way  of  living  than  in  the 
mere  animal  freedom  and  wildness  of  the 
savage.     That  is  only  what  she  regrets,  for 


184  CITY   COUSINS. 

she  dreads  a  return  to  the  cruelty  that  would 
certainly  befall  her  if  she  lived  again  with 
the  gypsies." 

Then  they  had  a  long  talk  on  this  subject; 
and  Mrs.  Emmet  told  Miss  Morgan  how  well 
Hagar  had  conducted  herself  after  her  return 
from  the  city,  and  how  desirous  she  had 
been  to  do  all  that  Amy  advised. 

"But  are  you  sure  that  those  people  will 
allow  her  to  remain  with  you,  Mrs.  Emmet?" 
asked  aunt  Kitty. 

"I  think  they  will,"  was  the  answer.  "I 
shall  take  legal  advice,  of  course,  and  do 
what  I  can  to  save  Hagar  from  degradation 
and  misery;  but  I  look  to  Amy  as  my  prin- 
cipal ally.  Her  warm  heart  and  generous 
nature  have  already  shown  her  capable  of 
doings  <roo<l  service  in  this  work.  And  when 
Belle  comes  "  — 

"•Oh!  is  Belle  coming?  "  interrupted  aunt 
Kitty. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  talking  too  fast,  Miss 
Morgan :  I  have  yet  to  consult  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Travers ;  but  '  we  shall  see  what  Ave  shall 
see.'     And  now  I  really  am  going  to  rest." 


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CHAPTER   XXI. 


THE   GYPSIES    AGAIN. 


"  TTOW  d'ye  do,  Vincent?     How  d'ye  do, 
-* — ■-  Belle  and  Clara  and    Tillie?     I    am 
so  glad  to  see  you  all.     And  Miss  Gaylord 
too.     How  tired  you  must  be  ! " 

It  is  Amy  speaking,  in  that  glad,  happy- 
toned  voice  of  hers,  giving  her  hand  to  one 
and  a  kiss  to  the  other,  as  she  stands,  in  the 
clear  light  of  the  late  summer,  at  the  door  of 
the  Johnson  Cottage  which  her  father  has 
hired,  and  made  read)r,  with  Mrs.  Emmet's 
help,  for  Mr.  Vincent  Travers's  family.  And 
here  the  dusty,  tired  group  look  up  with 
wonder  at  the  banner  floating  over  the  porch. 
It  is  only  a  strip  of  white  muslin  with  the 
word  '  Welcome  '  in  large,  red  letters  upon  it. 
Amy  and  Hagar  cut  these  letters  out,  and 

185 


186  CITY   COUSINS. 

sewed  them  on,  and  then  "flung  their  ban- 
ner to  the  breeze,"  as  Aiu)r  said,  which 
meant  that  the}'  tied  it  to  the  pillars  of  the 
portico,  where  it  was  prettily  surrounded 
with  hanging  tendrils  of  a  vine. 

It  is  a  trying  moment  to  Belle.  Well  she 
remembers  the  cold  salutation  she  gave 
Amy  at  Burton  Beach.  What  a  contrast 
all  this  is  to  that.  But  how  entirely  Amy 
seems  to  have  forgotten  it,  as  she  turns  from 
one  to  the  other,  and  takes  their  bags  and 
baskets,  and  hats  and  wraps,  while  the  elders 
are  talking  all  at  once,  and  commenting 
upon  the  house  and  the  place,  and  the  view 
and  the  weather.  "  Oh,  but  I'm  tired ! " 
says  Tillie ;  and  little  Clara  says  she  is  "  so 
tired,"  and  Vincent  looks  so  tall  and  thin, 
and  Belle  —  well,  Belle  limps  a  little,  and 
Am}r  puts  her  arm  around  her  as  she  says, — ■ 

"  You  are  lame  yet :  let  me  help  you. 
Come  away  up-stairs,  where  we  can  have  a 
long  talk,  and  I  can  thank  you  for  those  nice, 
long  letters,  /hate  to  write  letters,  but  you 
doit  beautifully:  I  do  believe  you'll  be  an 
author  some  day,  and  write  books.     Won't 


THE   GYPSIES   AGAIN.  187 

that  be  fine  ?  You  can  make  a  splendid  story, 
you  know,  out  of  all  you  have  been  through." 
The  idea  of  Amy  thanking  her  !  That  is  too 
much  for  Belle,  who  has  learned  a  lesson  of 
humility  never  to  be  forgotten.  She  puts 
her  arm  around  Amy,  and  whispers  some- 
thing,—  just  a  few  broken  words  of  sorrow 
for  the  past,  and  a  wish  to  know  Amy  better ; 
and  then  Amy  kisses  her,  and  says  gener- 
ously and  earnestly,  — 

"  Please  don't  say  any  more  about  that. 
You  and  I  know  each  other  now ;  we  didn't 
before :  and  we  are  going  to  have  such  good 
times  together.  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you, 
and  to  show  you ;  and  oh  !  isn't  Mrs.  Emmet 
lovely  ?  Did  you  ever  meet  anybody  kinder 
or  better?  And  now  that  }rou  have  come  to 
live  here  for  good,  to  stay  always,  you'll 
know  us  all ;  and  you  will  like  the  country 
so  much  more  than  the  city." 

Belle  listens  with  brightening  eyes ;  and 
Vincent  comes  in,  half  shouting, — 

"I  say,  Belle,  there's  a  tennis  court  all 
marked  out  over  in  that  field,"  pointing  out 
the  window ;  "  and  uncle  says  I  can  have  his 


188  CITY   COUSINS. 

boat  on  the  lake  whenever  I  want  it ;  and  I 
am  going  to  help  cut  the  corn  and  the  buck- 
wheat, and  he's  going  to  pay  me  just  as  if  I 
were  a  man  ;  and.  that  gypsy  girl  knows  how 
to  make  hammocks,  and  she's  going  to  teach 
me,  so  that  I  can  do  that  too.  Won't  it  be 
jolly  ?  I  feel  as  rich  as  Croesus  already,  — 
and  a  great  deal  happier,"  he  added  wisely. 

Then  Tillie  and  little  Clara  ran  in  asking 
for  their  dollies,  saying  there  was  a  dear 
little  woodshed  where  they  could  keep  house  ; 
and  there  was  an  apple-tree  to  climb,  which 
was  as  safe  as  if  it  had  stairs,  and  they  could 
sit  up  in  the  boughs,  and  eat  apples  all  day. 
After  they  had  gone,  came  Miss  Gaylord 
and  Miss  Morgan,  aunt  Clara  and  aunt  Kitty 
talking  about  the  housekeeping,  and  new  re- 
ceipts for  puddings  and  soups,  and  consult- 
ing as  to  domestic  resources ;  aunt  Clara 
pretending  to  be  a  great  blunderer,  and  as- 
suming that  aunt  Kitty  knew  every  thing- 
worth  knowing. 

Down-stairs  Mrs.  Emmet  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Travers  are  also  conferring.  Mr.  Vin- 
cent Travers's  house  in  the  city  has  been  sold, 


THE   GYPSIES   AGAIN.  189 

and  business  will  keep  him  in  the  West  for 
some  months  yet;  but  Clara  Gaylord  is  to 
take  charge  of  her  nieces  and  nephew  with 
new  zeal   and  interest. 

"One  favor,  however,  I  must  ask,"  said 
Mrs.  Emmet,  "  and  that  is,  to  have  Amy  and 
Isabella  for  a  long  visit  in  the  winter. 

"But  how  about  lessons?"  asks  anxious 
Mrs.  Travers. 

"  They  shall  not  lose  them :  we  will  all 
study  together,  —  French  and  German  and 
Latin  and  literature,  as  much  as  you  please, 
—  and  some  other  lessons  which  have  to  bo 
learned,  too,  —  consideration  and  pity  for  the 
poor,  the  miserable,  the  wicked.  Our  little 
girls  have  had  an  unusual  experience  in.  com- 
ing so  near  to  the  lives  of  those  who  know 
little  else  than  misery ;  but  perhaps  it  has 
made  them  the  more  desirous  of  doing  their 
share,  small  though  it  be,  in  making  heavy 
burdens  lighter,  and  sad  hearts  happier." 

The  summer  days  grew  shorter  and  shorter  : 
the  long,  cool  evenings,  when  meteors  flashed 
as  they  fell  across  the  sky,  succeeded  the 
brilliant  amber  sunsets  of  early  autumn. 


190  CITY   COUSINS. 

Daisies  and  clover  made  room  for  golden- 
rod  and  asters,  and  the  spic}r  perfumes  of 
ripe  fruits  filled  the  air.  From  their  wood- 
land rambles  the  children  came  home  laden 
with  rich  spoils, — boughs  of  oak  burnished 
with  bronze,  dogwood  in  warm  coppery 
tints,  sycamore  and  maples  flaming  in  yel- 
low and  red,  and  poke-berries  and  feath- 
ery clematis.  As  they  bore  their  treasures 
in,  wreathed  about  them,  they  looked  like 
wood-nymphs ;  and  the  clear  red  of  their 
cheeks  vied  with  the  sun-tinted  forest-leaves. 

On  the  cottage  hearth  were  hickory-sticks 
for  the  warm  glow  which  the  cool  mornings 
and  evenings  rendered  necessary ;  and  many 
pleasant  games  went  on  when  the  long,  rainy 
clays  set  in,  and  the  wild,  sobbing  storm 
stripped  the  bushes  of  their  beaut}'. 

Amy  and  Isabella  had  indeed  learned  to 
love  each  other.  Isabella  still  was  inclined 
to  be  proud  and  imperious;  it  was  natural 
to  her  :  but  she  was  learning  to  control  these 
faults,  and  Amy's  greater  gentleness  and  care 
for  others  were  a  constant  reminder  to  her 
that  forgetfulness  of  self  has  a  truer  dignity 


THE   GYPSIES    AGAIN.  191 

than  self-assertion.  Besides  all  their  merry 
games,  it  was  a  new  pleasure  to  learn  house- 
wifely ways,  and  help  her  aunt  Clara  in 
keeping  the  cottage  orderly  and  neat.  It 
was  her  duty  to  dust  the  parlor,  and  polish 
the  silver,  and  wipe  the  glasses ;  and  she 
was  even  so  ambitious  as  to  wish  to  cook ; 
and  in  all  these  things  she  could  turn  to 
Amy  for  advice,  for  Amy  had  long  been  al- 
lowed to  help  her  aunt  Kitty :  and  between 
aunt  Clara  and  aunt  Kitty,  there  was  now  a 
■oretty  rivalry  as  to  who  should  make  the  best 
preserves,  the  clearest,  firmest  jellies,  and  the 
most  appetizing  pickles ;  for,  though  Clara 
Gaylord  was  but  a  beginner,  she  had  stirred 
up  aunt  Kitty  to  novel  experiments:  and  they 
had  quite  seriously  discussed  the  publication 
of  a  new  cook-book  with  an  a3sthetic  title, 
exclusively  for  people  of  great  taste. 

Vincent  was  as  merry  as  the  day  was  long, 
going  about  the  farm  with  his  uncle,  and 
learning  the  use  of  implements  as  well  as  the 
varieties  of  grain.  Indeed,  he  had  been  heard 
to  say  something  about  "  rotation  of  crops," 
which  made  Tillie  giggle,  and  ask  him  what 


192  CITY   COUSINS. 

he  meant :  but  Clara  hushed  her,  and  said 
Vincent  "  had  got  to  be  big  some  time  ;  "  and 
then  she  had  buried  her  head  in  the  long, 
fleecy  wool  of  the  sheep  which  had  been 
Amy's  little  lamb.  Little  lamb  no  longer ! 
but  a  great,  fat,  woolly  creature  which  would 
have  to  be  sheared,  and  have  its  soft  coat 
turned  into  little  stockings  for  Clara. 

It  was  a  cold,  clear,  October  day,  and  the 
green  burrs  of  the  chestnuts  had  dropped 
their  glossy  brown  contents  over  all  the  fallen 
leaves.  The  children  were  merrily  picking 
them  up,  their  voices  ringing  out  in  silvery 
laughter  as  the  frightened  or  disturbed  crows 
cawed  over  their  heads,  and  sailed  away,  flap- 
ping their  black  wings  against  the  deep  blue 
of  the  sky.  A  happy  group  they  were,  — 
Belle  in  a  jaunty  scarlet  cap,  and  red  kilted 
skirt  with  a  tight,  trim,  black  jerse}r;  Amy  in 
a  Scotch  plaid;  and  the  little  girls  in  blue 
hoods  and  coats:  Vincent  in  a  woodsman's 
stout  suit  completed  the  picture.  They 
were  going  to  make  a  fire  to  roast  their  nuts, 
and  their  aunts  had  promised  to  send  them 
luncheon. 


THE   GYPSIES    AGAIN,  193 

"  Here  it  comes,"  said  Vincent,  blowing 
some  embers  that  refused  to  burn ,  "  and 
Hagar  will  show  us  how  to  make  a  better 
fire.' 

They  all  turned  to  greet  Hagar,  whose 
quick  aptitude  for  out-door  sports,  as  well  as 
her  desire  to  oblige,  made  her  a  great  favor- 
ite ;  but  they  saw  at  once  that  something 
was  the  matter,  as  she  put  down  the  big 
basket  of  goodies  and  the  pail  of  milk. 

"  What  is  it,  Hagar  ?  Tell  us  !  tell  us  !  " 
they  cried,  crowding  around  her  as  she  stood 
there  pale  and  trembling. 

"  I  saw  some  of  my  people  just  now. 
They  are  coming  this  way.  Oh,  I  am  so 
afraid ! "  she  said,  wringing  her  hands,  and 
looking  imploringly  at  the  sympathetic  faces 
around  her. 

"You  don't  say  so!  Where  are  they?" 
were  their  quick  ejaculations,  followed  by 
the  instant  determination  to  protect  her. 

The  shouts  of  rude  voices  and  the  bark- 
ing of  dogs  and  the  jingling  of  bells  were 
now  distinctly  borne  to  them.  The  little 
girls,  Tillie   and   Clara,  began    to  whimper. 


194  CITY   COUSINS. 

But  Belle  and  Vincent  and  Amy  saw  that 
they  must  at  once  take  measures  to  hide 
Hagar,  and  perhaps  themselves ;  for  they 
had  no  wish  to  attract  the  attention  of  these 
lazy  vagabonds. 

Pushing  the  girls  in  a  heap  together,  Vin- 
cent quickly  gathered  boughs,  and  cut  down 
saplings  till  he  had  an  immense  heap  of 
brush-wood  under  which  he  made  them 
crawl ;  then,  with  the  agility  of  a  young 
panther,  he  mounted  the  highest  tree  he 
could  find,  and  waited  the  result  of  his  ac- 
tion. He  hardly  dared  to  look  down  the 
road,  and  it  seemed  an  age  before  the  lum- 
bering vans  came  slowly  into  view.  What 
if  the  soft  breeze  which  fanned  his  cheeks, 
hot  with  excitement  and  rapid  movement, 
should  disturb  the  big  bundle  of  fagots  be- 
low? Or  what  if  the  gypsies,  espying  it, 
should  wish  to  replenish  their  stock  of  fire- 
wood? The  thought  made  him  shudder,  and 
the  perspiration  start  out. 

He  scarcely  breathed,  and  yet,  like  a  veri- 
table panther,  he  felt  ready  to  pounce  down 
upon  the  first  one  who  should  dare  to  ap- 
proach. 


THE   GYPSIES    AGAIN.  195 

Nearer  and  nearer  they  came, — laughing, 
lolling,  jeering,  smoking,  cracking  their 
whips,  and  jesting  as  if  life  were  one  long 
holiday,  not  to  be  well  spent  either. 

Dissolute,  dirty,  and  idle  they  were  ;  and 
Vincent  wondered  more  and  more  how  any 
thing;  good  could  come  from  them,  —  even 
Hagar.  - 

Now  they  were  facing  him.  He  counted 
their  horses :  he  could  see  the  colors  of  their 
rags,  watch  the  expression  of  their  faces. 
For  a  moment  he  thought  they  were  stop- 
ping, for  a  moment  his  heart  seemed  to  beat 
in  his  ears  ;  and  then  slowly  they  defiled  past, 

—  wagons,  horses,  men,  women,  and  children, 

—  going  down  the  road  and  out  of  sight. 
For  many  minutes  Vincent  did  not  move  ; 

then,  creeping  down,  he  carefully  surveyed 
the  woods,  the  road,  the  distant  fields. 

"  They  are  all  gone,"  he  whispered  to  the 
heap  of  brush-wood. 

"Are  you  sure?"  came  in  muffled  accents 
from  within. 

"  Quite  so,"  he  answered.  And  then,  with 
a  rush,  out  came  the  children. 


196  CITY   COUSINS. 

"I  should  have  smothered  in  one  minute 
and  a  half  more,"  said  Belle. 

"And  I  too,''  said  Amy.  While  Tillie 
and  Clara  wiped  the  tears  of  fright  from 
their  eyes,  and  strove  to  put  on  braver  looks. 

But  Hagar's  relief  made  her  so  happy  that 
she  began  a  wild  sort  of  dance,  which  made 
them  all  stare. 

Then  she  spread  the  table-cloth,  and  started 
a  fresh  fire ;  and  they  had  the  nicest  picnic 
possible. 

As  they  all  sat  around  the  crackling 
flames,  and  opened  their  nuts,  they  begged 
Hagar  for  the  story  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

hagar's  story. 

npHE  children  were  in  a  half-circle  around 
-"-  the  fire,  with  Hagar  in  the  middle  of 
them  ;  and  every  face  was  turned  towards  the 
gipsy  girl  in  eager  expectation. 

"  Where  shall  I  begin  ? "  she  asked  bash- 
fully. "  I  ain't  used  to  talking  much,  and  I 
can't  say  things  as  nice  as  you  all  do." 

"  Oh  !  no  matter  for  that,"  said  Belle  ;  and 
Amy  patted  her  on  the  arm  re-assuringly. 

"It's  the  story  we  care  for,  not  the  fine 
talk,"  said  Vincent. 

"Yes,"  said  Tillie,  —  and  Clara  nodded 
her  head,  —  "  please  begin  just  as  far  back  as 
when  you  were  a  mite  of  a  baby." 

"  Of  course  she  can't  do  that,"  said  Amy 
smiling:  "no  one  can." 

197 


198  CITY  COUSINS. 

"/can,"  said  Clara  triumphantly,  —  "al- 
most," she  added  softly,  seeing  the  amused 
expression  on  all  their  faces. 

"  And  I  can,  '  almost,'  too,"  said  Hagar ; 
"for  I  must  have  been  very  little  when  I  used 
to  go  around  the  streets  with  a  woman  who 
played  a  hand-organ,  and  I  hacl  a  tin  cup  for 
the  pennies." 

"  What  did  your  mother  let  you  do  that 
for?"  asked  Clara,  with  big  eyes  of  sur- 
prise. 

"It  wasn't  my  mother :  I  hadn't  any  mother, 
—  at  least,  I  don't  remember  her.  It  wasn't 
so  bad  getting  the  pennies :  it  was  only  bad 
when  nobody  gave  me  any,  then  I  was 
whacked  and  thumped." 

"  Oh ! "  went  up  in  chorus  from  the  chil- 
dren. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  go  on  ?  "  said  Hagar, 
who  quickly  noticed  the  shocked  expression 
on  her  companions'  faces. 

"  Of  course  we  do,"  they  all  said. 

"Then,  you  musn't  mind  about  the  hard 
knocks,  for  I  was  used  to  'em ;  and  that's  all 
over  now,  you  know,"  she  said,  turning  to 


hagar's  story.  199 

Amy,  who  could  not  help  contrasting  Ha- 
gar's  memories  with  her  own  happy  recollec- 
tions of  kisses  and  sugar-plums,  soft  laps  of 
coaxing  grandmother  and  aunties. 

"Yes,  that  is  all  over,"  said  Amy,  smiling 
through  a  few  tear-drops. 

"You  see,"  said  Hagar,  "I  wasn't  quite  as 
smart  as  the  monkey;  for  he  could  climb  up 
to  windows,  and  make  people  laugh  at  his 
red  cap,  which  he  bowed  with ;  and  he  could 
beat  a  drum,  and  do  all  sorts  of  funny  things. 
But  he  got  sick  one  day,  and  so  they  took  me 
instead.  I  don't  know  how  old  I  was.  I 
was  playing  in  the  gutter,  when  they  picked 
me  up,  and  tied  a  shawl  around  me,  and  said- 
'  She'll  do  as  well  as  Jocko  ; '  and  away  I  had 
to  go.  I  was  sorry,  and  cried  for  my  play- 
mates ;  and  it  made  my  feet  ache  to  walk  so 
much ;  and  it  tired  me  so  to  hear  those  same 
tunes  over  and  over  and  over  again :  but  I 
got  used  to  it,  and  was  sorry  again  when 
Maria  said  I  was  too  big,  and  took  her  baby 
instead.  Then  I  had  to  stay  home,  and  cook 
onions,  and  wash  rags,  and  learn  how  to  make 
cigarettes,  such  as  Maria's  husband  kept  in 


200  CITY   COUSINS. 

his  stall  where  he  sold  oranges  and  dates. 
But  I  used  to  run  off  whenever  I  got  the 
chance,  for  I  hated  to  stay  in  the  house :  it 
was  dark  down  in  the  cellar,  and  the  things 
smelt  so,  it  wasn't  nice ;  and  in  going  around 
with  the  hand-organ  I  had  seen  pleasant 
streets  and  pretty  houses  and  nice  children, 
and  I  liked  to  look  at  them  again :  but  oh, 
how  I  was  scolded  when  I  went  back,  and 
whipped  too !  " 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  said  Tillie. 

"What  made  you  go  back  to  them,"  asked 
Belle. 

"  'Cause  I  didn't  know  where  else  to  go." 

"  You  might  have  asked  somebody,  I  should 
think,  to  be  kinder  to  you,"  said  Amy. 

"No,"  said  Vincent,  "poor  children  don't 
think  of  such  things:  they  just  take  every- 
thing as  it  comes.  Hagar  didn't  know  who 
her  father  or  mother  was,  and  I  dare  say 
other  people  might  have  been  worse  to  her." 

"Yes,"  said  Hagar;  "but  I  did  not  say  1 
did  not  know  who  my  father  was." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  children,  breath- 
less with  surprise  at  this  unexpected  an- 
nouncement. 


hagar's  stohy.  201 

"  I  only  said  I  did  not  remember  my 
mother." 

"We  all  thought  you  an  orphan,"  said 
Belle,  a  little  reproachfully. 

"  I  may  be,"  said  Hagar  sorrowfully  ;  "  for 
my  father  was  a  sailor,  and  I  have  never  seen 
him  since  the  time  I  left  Maria." 

"  Then  you  did  run  away  at  last  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,"  answered  Hagar ;  "  but  I'll 
go  on  and  tell  you,  so  that  you'll  understand. 
I  used  to  be  a  great  deal  in  the  street,  and 
hear  every  thing  and  see  every  thing,  and 
especially  all  the  processions  and  things ; 
and,  whenever  there  was  a  circus  in  town,  I 
couldn't  keep  away  from  the  beautiful  horses 
and  other  animals.  I  used  to  creep  in  the 
tents,  and  hide  away,  so  as  to  see  the  curious 
creatures ;  and  one  day  a  woman  said  to  me, 
'  How  would  you  like  to  ride  a  horse  your- 
self, missie  ? ' 

"'Oh!'  said  I,  'wouldn't  I  though!'  and 
then  she  said  if  I'd  go  with  her  I  should,  and 
that's  the  way  I  got  among  the  gypsies.  The 
woman  was  ole  marm ;  and  she  took  me  off 
with  her  to  the  country,  and  wouldn't  let  me 


202  CITY   COUSINS. 

so  much  as  say  "  Good-by "  to  Maria.  I 
wanted  to,  and  I  used  to  cry  and  cry  to  think 
what  had  become  of  her;  but  I  never  saw 
her  again." 

"  But  she  was  so  cross  to  you,"  said 
Amy. 

"Yes,  she  was,  but  not  so  dreadful  cross 
as  ole  marm :  besides,  she  knew  my  father ; 
for  every  time  he  came  to  see  her  he  brought 
something  nice,  —  it  was  the  way  they  got 
Jocko ;  and  when  he  came  they  were  always 
kinder  to  me,  and  gave  me  more  to  eat." 

"  But  why  did  your  father  leave  you  with 
such  a  rough  set?"  asked  Vincent.  "He 
ought  to  have  put  you  in  school." 

"  I  don't  know  any  reason,"  said  Hagar, 
hanging  her  head.  "  I  guess  it  was  'cause 
he  was  poor." 

"Was  he  an  American,  or  Englishman?" 

"  I  don't  know.  He  spoke  Spanish,  I 
think,  to  Maria." 

"  Was  he  kind  to  you  ?  did  he  seem  to 
love  you  ?  " 

"  He  never  whipped  me  :  he  gave  me  some 
earrings  once,  and  called   me  his  'little  par- 


hagar's  story.  203 

rot.'  Ole  marm  took  the  earrings  for  her- 
self." 

"  How  mean  !  " 

"Yes,  it  was;  but  she  only  pulled  my 
ears,  and  said  as  I  hadn't  sore  eyes  I  didn't 
need  earrings." 

"What  did  she  mean  by  that?"  asked 
Belle. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Oh!  I  know,"  said  Amy.  "Some  people 
think  it's  good  for  the  eyes  to  have  holes 
bored  in  the  ears." 

"  How  ridiculous !  "  said  Belle. 

"Well,"  said  Vincent,  "if  they  think  that, 
why  don't  they  bore  noses  too?  But  what 
I  want  to  know  now,  Hagar,  is,  where  did 
all  these  things  happen  ?  " 

"What  things?" 

Hagar  had  risen  to  put  some  fresh  sticks 
on  the  fire,  and  was  carefully  guarding 
Clara's  dress  from  sparks. 

"  Where  did  you  go  around  with  the  hand- 
organ  ?     Was  it  in  a  big  city  ?  " 

"I  think  it  was,  but  not  New  York.  It 
was  a  place  where  there  were  ships,  for  I've 


204  CITY   COUSINS. 

often  run  on  the  clocks  and  wharves ;  but  it 
had  more  country  around  it,  for  the  circuses 
were  out  in  the  fields  under  tents ;  and  I 
loved  to  get  out  of  the  dirty  town,  and  see 
the  green  grass.  That's  what  made  me  think 
it  would  be  nice  to  go  with  ole  marm,  and 
ride  horses;  but  I  had  enough  of  it,  —  not 
the  grass  or  the  horses,  those  I'll  always  like, 
but  the  living  gypsy-fashion,  without  work 
or  any  clean,  decent  houses,  and  without 
learning  any  thing  useful,  or  knowing  who 
God  is,  and  what  he  has  done  for  us.1'   ' 

The  children  had  grown  very  grave  and 
still,  and  they  now  looked  up  at  Hagar  with 
a  new  interest,  feeling  that  these  words 
meant  even  more  to  her  than  they  did  to 
them,  who  had  been  taught  all  that  was  holy 
and  reverential  from  their  infancy.  But 
again  Vincent  spoke  :  — 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  any  thing  about 
your  father,  Hagar?" 

The  tears  gathered  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  would  like  him 
to  know  all  the  kindness  that  has  been  shown 
to    me ;   and  I  would  like  to  do  something 


hagar's  story.  205 

for  him  if  I  could.     But  I'm  afraid  there's 
no  use  in  thinking  about  him." 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Vincent  boldly ;  and 
then  they  all  began  gathering  their  things 
together  to  go  home. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


LITTLE   PARROT. 


TN  the  long  winter  that  came  so  soon, 
-*~  treacling  with  icy  feet  on  the  woodland 
paths  where  lately  had  frolicked  the  children, 
Vincent's  one  thought  in  moments  of  leisure 
was,  what  a  pleasant  ending  of  all  Hagar's 
youthful  troubles  would  be  the  finding  of 
her  father. 

Amy  and  Isabella  were  with  Mrs.  Emmet 
in  the  '  city,  going  to  the  same  school,  and 
studying  diligently.  Tillie  and  Clara  said 
their  lessons  to  their  aunt  Clara,  and  Vin- 
cent was  his  uncle  Tom's  right-hand  man. 
To  be  sure,  he  went  to  the  minister  in  Beulah 
twice  a  week  for  Latin  and  mathematics,  and 
Miss  Morgan  assisted  him  with  his  French : 
but  whatever  time  he  could  spare  he  was  with 

206 


LITTLE   PAEROT.  207 

his  uncle ;  for  he  had  quite  determined  to  be 
a  farmer,  and  nothing  pleased  him  more  than 
to  be  allowed  to  hear  his  uncle  Tom's  dis- 
cussions concerning  stock  and  crops. 

Mrs.  Emmet  had  taken  every  legal  meas- 
ure necessary  to  protect  Hagar,  and  it  had 
been  thought  best  to  leave  her  for  a  while 
under  Mrs.  Travers's  kind  care  in  the  coun- 
try. She  seemed  to  be  entirely  satisfied  and 
happy,  and  became  as  great  a  favorite  in  the 
kitchen  as  she  was  with  the  children.  Tillie 
and  Clara  were  glad  to  have  her  share  their 
lessons ;  and,  though  she  was  so  much  older, 
she  did  not  disdain  to  have  them  show  her 
any  mistakes  she  might  make.  This  teach- 
able disposition  was  what  won  her  so  many 
friends.  But  Vincent  fancied  that  he  often 
saw  a  sad  look  in  her  bright,  dark  eyes ;  and 
he  often  spoke  to  her  about  her  father,  and 
imagined  that  it  made  her  happier. 

Full  of  this  thought  one  day,  he  wrote  to 
Amy  and  Isabella  about  it ;  and  they,  in 
turn,  talked  it  over  with  Mrs.  Emmet,  who 
always  took  much  interest  in  their  corre- 
spondence. 


208  CITY   COUSINS. 

"  Don't  yon  suppose,  Mrs.  Emmet,  that,  if 
we  tried,  we  might  find  out  something  about 
Hagar's  father?  "  asked  Amy. 

"  Hardly,  my  dear.  It  would  be  like  hunt- 
ing for  a  needle  in  a  haystack.'' 

It  was  near  holiday  time,  and  they  were 
also  discussing  what  should  be  done  ;  whether 
all  should  go  to  the  country,  or  whether  Miss 
Gaylord  should  bring  Tillie  and  Clara  to  the 
city. 

"Mother  writes  that  she  really  cannot 
spare  me  at  Christmas,"  said  Amy ;  "  and 
she  wishes  Mrs.  Emmet  would  come  to  us 
for  a  visit." 

Mrs.  Emmet  smiled,  as  she  said,  "  It's  like 
the  puzzle  of  the  fox  and  the  goose  and  the 
bag  of  grain.  If  you  go  home,  Amy,  Belle 
won't  want  to  stay ;  and,  if  Belle  goes,  Tillie 
and  Clara  won't  want  to  come.  Now,  how 
do  you  think  it  would  do  to  divide?" 

"But  how,  Mrs.  Emmet?  Who  shall  stay, 
and  who  shall  go  ?  " 

"  If  you  go  to  the  country,  Vincent  might 
come  in  your  place,  then  Belle  would  be  sat- 
isfied ;  and  after  Vincent  has  been  here,  Tillie 


LITTLE  PAKEOT.  209 

and  Clara  could  take  their  turn ;  and  then, 
for  New  Year's  Day,  I  would  go  on,  and  we 
would  all  be  together." 

Amy  and  Belle  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  this  would  be  a  very  good  settlement ; 
for  the}T  knew  that  Mrs.  Emmet  could  not 
leave  any  sooner,  owing  to  her  own  family 
arrangements  and  engagements.  Thus  it  was 
that  Vincent  came  to  the  city  for  a  few  days. 

He  had  not  been  many  hours  at  Mrs.  Em- 
met's before  his  favorite  theme  of  thought 
came  uppermost.  They  had  been  talking  of 
Hagar,  and  were  saying  how  strange  it  must 
seem  to  know  nothing  of  one's  father  and 
mother,  and  how  many  poor  children  were 
left  thus  desolate. 

"But  I  can't  help  thinking  we  might  find 
Hagar's  father  if  we  tried,"  said  Vincent, 
looking  up  eagerly  at  Mrs.  Emmet,  whom  he 
considered  the  embodiment  of  all  earthly 
power. 

"  How  would  you  try  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Em- 
met. 

"  Oh  !  I'd  go  about  here  and  there,  asking 
everybody." 


210  CITY   COUSINS. 

"  That  is  somewhat  indefinite,"  answered 
Mrs.  Emmet,  looking  kindly  upon  Vincent's 
enthusiasm. 

"Yes:  but  I  have  something  to  go  upon, 
you  know,"  said  the  boy. 

"  No,  I  did  not  know  that,"  said  his  friend. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  Oh !  I've  made  Hagar  tell  me  her  story 
over  and  over  again,  and  I've  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  Boston  is  the  place  she  was 
lost  in  ;  and  I  think  her  father's  first  name  is 
Josef,  and  perhaps  his  last  name  is  Mendez." 

"  Why,  what  makes  you  think  so?"  said 
Mrs.  Emmet,  now  quite  interested.  "She 
could  not  tell  me  any  thing  of  the  sort  when 
I  tried  to  find  out  more." 

"No:  neither  could  she  tell  me.  But  one 
evening  we  were  all  roasting  apples  and 
naming  nuts,  —  I  think  it  was  Halloween, 
- — and  Tillie  and  Clara  were  teasing  our 
cook  about  some  one  named  Joseph,  when 
suddenly  Hagar  said  over  and  over  again,  as 
if  something  had  just  flashed  into  her  head, 
'  Josef,  Josef,'  and  then  she  added,  '  Mendez.' 
She  looked  so  queer,  and  seemed  for  a  min- 


LITTLE   PATIROT.  211 

ute  as  if  she  were  frightened,  that  I  didn't 
say  any  thing ;  but  after  a  while  I  asked  her 
what  she  meant;  and  she  said  she  did  not 
know,  only  the  name  seemed  to  come  to  her. 
She  did  not  know  how  or  why,  but  it 
seemed  to  belong  to  some  one  she  knew.  I 
wrote  it  down  on  purpose,  and  don't  you 
think  something  may  come  of  it?" 

"Possibly,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet;  "but  I 
hope  you  held  out  no  hopes  to  Hagar  on  so 
slight  a  foundation." 

"  Ob,  no  !  "  said  Vincent  eagerly.  "  I  did 
not,  for  I  was  so  afraid  you  might  not 
approve." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Emmet ;  "  that 
was  thoughtful ;  "  and  then  she  changed  the 
subject. 

But  nothing  came  of  all  this,  though  Vin- 
cent asked  many  people,  and  went  to  many 
places;  and  the  holidays  went  by  as  if  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind,  and  studies  were  resumed, 
and  the  winter  drew  to  its  close. 

Lent  began  early ;  and  this  was  always 
Mrs.  Emmet's  time  for  going  about  to  the 
hospitals,  —  the  ones  she  was  not  most  closely 


212  CITY    COUSINS. 

interested  in.  She  had  her  nearer  charities 
always  to  attend  to.  Many  a  sad  story  of 
human  suffering  did  she  hear,  and  many  a 
poor  creature  blessed  her  for  loving  sympa- 
thy which  sometimes  even  prolonged  their 
lives.  She  did  not  recount  all  her  expe- 
riences to  her  young  friends,  for  she  did  not 
wish  to  sadden  their  bright  youth.  She  had 
interested  Belle  and  Amy  in  useful  work 
for  the  poor,  and  they  gave  much  of  their 
leisure  to  it.  Belle  had  done  what  she  could 
for  the  poor,  dumb  woman  whose  unwilling 
guest  she  had  been,  and  the}"  often  visited 
her  laughing  baby  in  the  day-nursery  where 
the  mother  had  been  induced  to  place  it 
while  she  worked  at  some  employment 
which  paid  her  better  than  sewing.  They 
got  her,  too,  to  go  to  a  church  for  deaf 
mutes;  and  her  husband,  under  this  gentle  in- 
fluence, had  greatly  improved,  and  broken  off 
all  association  with  reckless  or  wicked  com- 
panions. But  one  da}T,  towards  the  close  of 
Lent,  Mrs.  Emmet  came  home,  and  hurriedly 
called  the  children  from  their  books  into  her 
morning-room. 


LITTLE   PARROT.  213 

"Sit  down,  Amy,"  she  said,  "and  you  too, 
Belle :  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

Amy  curled  herself  on  the  rug,  and  Belle 
ensconced  herself  on  the  sofa,  sure  of  some- 
thing entertaining;  "for  sometimes  Mrs.  Em- 
met could  tell  very  funny  stories:  but  it  was 
nothing  funny  this  time,  for  Mrs.  Emmet 
looked  very  grave. 

"I  went,  as  you  know,  after  lunch,  to  St. 
Mary's  Hospital,  and,  having  occasion  to 
look  over  the  books,  came  upon  the  list  of 
recent  admissions.  As  I  was  making  a 
memorandum  upon  a  letter  in  my  pocket,  — 
the  first  I  have  ever  received  from  Hagar, 
—  my  eye  lighted  on  the  name  '  Josef 
Mendez  ; '  and  instantly  I  remembered  what 
Vincent  had  told  us.  I  asked  to  see  the 
man,  and  was  taken  to  the  ward  where  he 
lay.  He  was  so  thin  and  worn  with  long 
illness  that  there  could  have  been  no  possi- 
bility of  discovering  any  likeness  between 
him  and  —  any  one  else ;  and  besides,  the 
name  is  a  common  one :  but,  after  asking 
about  his  condition,  I  said  a  few  words  in 
Spanish.     In  a  little  while  he  spoke  to  me 


214  CITY   COUSINS. 

very  freely ;  said  he  knew  he  could  not  live, 
but  that  he  had  one  heavy  weight  on  his 
heart,  which  would  make  it  hard  for  him  to 
die.  I  asked  him  what  it  was ;  but  he  shook 
his  head,  and  gazed  in  a  troubled  way  at  me 
as  if  nothing  could  relieve  him.  Then  very 
gently  and  carefully  I  told  him  about  a  little 
girl  who  was  lost,  and  whom  I  knew ;  and  I 
wondered  if  he  could  assist  me  in  finding  her 
father,  who  was  a  Spanish  sailor.  At  first, 
he  just  gazed  and  gazed,  half  stupefied  ;  then 
he  listened,  and  partly  rose  upon  his  poor, 
thin  arm,  his  eyes  getting  bigger  and  bigger. 
At  last  he  asked,  — 

"  '  What  is  her  name  ? ' 

"I  hardly  dared  to  whisper  '  Hagar  ; '  but 
you  should  have  seen  the  look  of  delight 
that  flashed  upon  that  poor,  pale  face." 

"She  is  mine!"  he  cried.  "She  is  mine! 
Bring  her  to  me." 

"  Then  I  had  to  explain  that  she  was  far 
away ;  that  she  was  no  longer  the  little,  tiny 
child  he  thought  her ;  that  she  had  grown, 
and  had  no  recollection  of  him  other  than 
that  he  had  called  her  '  Little  Parrot.'     At 


LITTLE   PARROT.  215 

this  he  fairly  laughed  till  the  tears  came, 
and  begged  me  to  send  for  her."' 

"  And  will  you  ?  "  "  Oh,  please  hurry, 
Mrs.  Emmet!"  "And  must  he  die?"  said 
first  one  and  then  the  other  of  the  chil- 
dren. 

"  I  have  telegraphed  to  Mr.  Travers : 
Hagar  will  be  here  to-night." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad!"  said  Belle;  but  Amy 
could  not  speak  for  tears. 

It  was  Easter  Day ;  and,  though  the  air 
was  chill,  the  sun  shone  warmly.  Far  and 
near,  bells  and  organs  rang  out  happy 
chimes,  proclaiming  the  risen  Saviour. 

In  a  corner  of  the  long  hospital-ward, 
where  loving  hands  had  sought  to  make  the 
day  bright  with  flowers,  was  a  high  screen, 
and  behind  this  screen  stood  a  group  of  chil- 
dren,—  Amy,  Isabella,  Vincent,  and  Hagar. 
All  bore  lilies  in  their  hands,  —  white,  fra- 
grant, pure,  —  emblems  of  our  lives  when 
washed  from  sin,  and  made  fit  for  an  offering 
to  the  Lord. 

The  children  stepped    softly  towards   the 


216  CITY   COUSINS. 

bed  where  la)T  Hagar's  father.  He  took 
them  each  by  the  hand,  looked  into  their 
faces,  and  whispered  thankful  words.  He 
was  very  quiet  then  for  a  moment,  as  if  in 
silent  prayer,  or  perhaps  listening  to  the 
music  which  wafted  in  the  open  window 
from  a  neighboring  church;  and  Mrs.  Emmet 
motioned  to  Hagar  to  draw  nearer.  She  had 
been  with  him  a  week,  and  heard  all  about 
his  wandering,  dangerous  life,  all  about  her 
young  mother,  whom  Death  had  taken  from 
her  child  when  but  a  few  days  old ;  and 
now  the  end  of  their  short  friendship  was 
approaching. 

All  the  children  watched  with  awe-struck 
faces  the  shadow  which  was  so  plainly  gath- 
ering about  the  narrow  cot,  and  }*et  they 
were  not  afraid.  The  peace,  the  rest,  the 
purity  of  Easter,  and  its  joyous  hopes  en- 
compassed them. 

Hagar  knelt  beside  her  father ;  and  Mrs. 
Emmet  read  in  clear,  distinct  tones  the 
commendatory  prayer.  As  she  ceased,  the 
dying  man's  eyes  closed,  his  lips  faintly 
uttered,  — 


LITTLE   PAEKOT.  217 

"  Good-by,  little  parrot,"  and  Hagar's 
father  ceased  to  breathe. 

My  story  is  ended.  The  young  cousins  in 
city  and  country  have  grown  to  be  even 
stronger  friends  than  ever.  Summer  and 
winter  find  them  together  in  their  pursuits 
and  pastimes.  Hagar  has  found  a  happy 
home  with  Mrs.  Emmet,  who  is  training  her 
for  a  useful,  industrious  life  ;  and  she  is  as 
grateful  as  a  summer  flower  for  refreshing 
rain. 


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